The Harry Potter Collection
by Animagus Anonymous
Summary: This is a compilation of Harry Potter one-shots and short stories, written for the forums I am part of, so that info will be in the A/Ns if you wish to see it. Rating: under T Latest: The last chapter of a group story! Draco finds a coded diary. What will he do? Summary is bad! Please read and review, follow and favorite!
1. Muggle Fashion the Draco Malfoy Way

**A/N: This is my first ever story and it is written for the Golden Snitch forum's Movie Madness: Mean Girls competition on behalf of Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for house Horned Serpent.**

 **Prompt: Object #5 Khakis and Flip-flops**

 **Word Count: 1,491**

Draco slipped quietly into Muggle Studies, just before the bell rang. He hurried over to his usual seat, behind Luna and next to Hermione. He gave the brunette a small smile, and she returned it.

Professor Coote stepped out of the office that was adjacent to the classroom and faced her small class of 7th and 8th year students. Headmistress McGonagall had given all who were 7th years during the years of the Carrows' reign an invitation to come back for another year to have a proper last year and N.E.W.T.s. Not many had exactly jumped at the opportunity, but there a few familiar faces.

Draco was the only 8th year Slytherin, and had no choice but to start socializing with Gryffindors this year. He also roomed with Longbottom, Finnigan, and Thomas (who he now called by their first names). At first, the lions had been skeptical of him, and he of them, understandably, but after a few weeks of arguing, Neville had called a truce, and Draco found that he got along with the Gryffindors quite well. The lions had been… surprisingly welcoming, especially considering all Draco had done during the war. At first, Draco had been uncomfortable, expecting a trap, but when none had come, he grew more and more comfortable, until most people just accepted him as an honorary Gryffindor.

Draco snapped reverie as Professor Coote started the lesson. "As of this class, you will be engaged in a rather hands-on project for the next two weeks. You will each be assigned an aspect of Muggle life and be expected to apply it to your own."

Draco's interest peaked. At first in an effort to be put in contrast to his father, but then out of genuine interest, Draco had become fascinated with Muggle music. If his assignment was music, this project would be a cinch.

His mind brought him back to the present as he realized Coote had been assigning topics to the class and was already near the end of her list. "Ms. Weasley – food, Ms. Lovegood – entertainment, Ms. Granger – internet, and that leaves Mr. Malfoy with-" she paused and seemed extremely amused. "-Fashion."

"Just brilliant," Draco muttered to himself and the class burst into peals of laughter.

"Okay, I think I've got it." Draco muttered to himself as he adjusted his sandals. "How do I look?" Draco asked Seamus and Neville as he dramatically opened the bathroom door. They both just managed to keep straight faces and assure him with thumbs-up and pats on the back. "Amazing. Exactly like a Muggle. You're killing it."

Draco smirked to himself. Raised to be the perfect pureblood heir, and yet he still managed to look like a classy Muggle man in under 24 hours. "Great! Here, can you take the picture?" He handed Neville the camera and posed. The flash went off three times before Neville handed it back. Draco tucked it away safely in his trunk before strutting down the stairs, eager to show off his new look.

Hermione stood near the portrait hole, waiting impatiently for Draco, Seamus and Neville to come down so they could go to breakfast. She heard a door in the boys' tower slam open and footsteps walking quickly down the stairs. She stood up straighter, anticipating her friends. She just managed to swallow her hysteria and put a small over her mouth to cover her raging smirk before Draco saw her.

Draco was wearing a cropped crochet vest over a faded black t-shirt with capri sweatpants and– wait for it–sandals with _toe-socks_. And, to accessorize (she assumed) a pair of aviator sunglasses. Hermione gave him a thumbs-up and started out of the portrait hole, where she allowed herself to snort, once. Then, the three boys came through the portrait hole and she had to contend with biting her cheek as Draco strutted down the hallway. She didn't dare make eye contact with Seamus or Neville, because she knew that if she did, she wouldn't be able to keep it together.

As he swaggered to the Great Hall with Seamus, Neville and Hermione, Draco noticed that he was getting a lot of looks. And he meant _a lot_ of looks. _They're all jealous of the socks,_ he thought. _Yup, definitely the socks._ From across the hallway, some Ravenclaw girls pointed and giggled. Draco winked at them and the giggling tripled. _Maybe dressing like a Muggle isn't so bad._

Draco downed the last of his pumpkin juice and noticed Seamus looking around. He realized that Dean still hadn't been down to breakfast. Draco shrugged, he had probably just slept in. As he turned back to his eggs, the boy in question came running down the middle of the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor tables, rushing to grab something before the House Elves brought the platters back down to the kitchens. Dean managed to snatch two pieces of toast and an apple before the trays disappeared off of the table. He pouted as he slid into the seat across from Draco and took a bite of the apple. He then promptly spit it out and started choking on his laughter while Seamus hit him on the back.

"You okay?" Draco asked.

"Never mind me, what the hell happened to you, mate? You look like a bloody cir-" he stopped and noticed Hermione waving her hand in front of her neck and mouthing "no" repeatedly before Draco noticed. But, the damage was done, and Draco followed Dean's gaze to Hermione's wild gestures.

"What? I'm missing something, aren't I? Is it the glasses?" He started fiddling with his clothes, smoothing imaginary wrinkles out of his vest.

"Um, where are your robes?" Dean asked, well aware that he had screwed up.

"Oh, it's my Muggle Studies project," Draco informed him proudly. "Yeah, I have to dress like a Muggle for two weeks. What do you think? Do I look convincing enough?"

Dean opened his mouth, then closed it again, and then repeated the actions, trying to find words to tell Draco how convincing he looked. Draco was really starting to worry that he had gotten something wrong when seamus let out a snort. That set Neville off, and soon the two of them were howling with laughter, almost falling out of their seats, the center of attention of the whole Great hall, which only drew more attention to Draco and his ensemble. Dean eventually gave up and joined them, shaking with silent hysteria. Draco turned to Hermione, who looked torn between joining the other three and feeling incredibly sorry for the Slytherin.

Draco felt his face heat up as everyone who hadn't seen him so far started pointing and jeering, especially the Slytherins who had known him for at least a few years before. "Well, you see, Draco, this might be quite what Muggles wear–" Hermione started, and at the expression of recognition and then fury on his face, she added quickly, "–on a daily basis, I mean, I'm sure some… Muggles… wear them?" She backed away at the murderous look on her friend's face. Draco then took her by the arm and dragged her out of the Great Hall.

 _I can't believe them! They didn't tell me this whole time!_ Draco fumed as he dragged Hermione to an alcove in the hallway. "You guys didn't tell me this whole morning! Those Muggle catalogs you showed me– I did everything you said– and Seamus and Neville didn't tell me anything!" Draco exploded.

"I thought you said you had it covered! And we were going to be late to breakfast so I didn't want to say anything! But, you have to admit that was pretty–" Hermione stopped as Draco looked livid again. "Okay, okay how about this? I promise that tonight I'll help you Owl Order other clothes, nice ones, that Muggles actually wear. Deal?" Hermione stuck out her hand hopefully. After a pause and a menacing glare, Draco shook her hand.

"Deal."

The project had gone quite well, Draco thought as he finished off his essay 2 weeks later. He glanced at the clock. Damn, it was 2:00! He put a drying charm on the essay, put his ink and quill away, and lugged his stuff up to the dormitory. He flopped down on his four-poster without changing and fell immediately asleep.

The next day, Draco woke to find that it was 8:45 already, dammit again! He hopped out and quickly pulled some clothes out of his trunk, not noticing or caring which ones they were, brushed his teeth, grabbed his bag and raced down to the Great Hall, where he grabbed a piece of toast before high-tailing it to Muggle Studies, on the fifth floor of the west tower. By the time he arrived, he was sweaty and out of breath, but he was there and he had his project. He strode into class, which had just started, and got out his things as quickly as he could, oblivious to the noise he was making. He had already sat down with his project on his desk when he heard the laughter from behind him. It was Seamus, Dean and Neville.

"Oi, what happened this morning? Project's over, don't you know?" Seamus called. Draco looked down and gasped, horrified as he realized that he had hurriedly pulled on his horrendous outfit from two weeks ago that he had discarded at the bottom of his trunk two weeks ago.

Professor Coote then came to his desk to collect his project and glared her nose down at him. "Mr. Malfoy, care to explain your–attire?"

"Um… It's a, uh…. fashion statement." he lied.

"A fashion statement?"

"Um, yeah?"

She stared skeptically at him. Finally, after a full minute in which the class had held their breaths, she said, "10 points to Slytherin."


	2. Same Difference, Right?

**A/N: This is written for the Golden Snitch's Mother's Day 2017 event for Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for the house Horned Serpent.**

 **Character: Molly Weasley**

 **Prompts: (word) cooking, (setting) The Burrow, (character) Charlie Weasley**

 **Word Count (not including A/N): 1,497**

Charlie cautiously opened the door, calling his parents' names. When they didn't answer, he crept inside the Burrow and looked at the clock. Molly and Arthur's hands were at the "traveling" point. Charlie saw the note Spello-taped onto the clock that said,

 _Charlie,_

 _I am taking your mother out to lunch for mother's day; we haven't been out in ages. I found this amazing new Muggle restaurant that has ice cream that is fried! How amazing is that!? Anyway, we'll be back no later than 3:30 so feel free to come back later if you want._

 _-Dad_

He was going to cook for his parents, make them a huge dinner to surprise them when they came home. One thing anyone who knew Molly Weasley knew about her was that she always just wanted her family to be happy, and a huge part of the way she did that was by putting lots of delicious food on the table, every night, without fail, no matter how much money their family had. Now, Charlie was going to return the favor, even if it was only one meal compared to the thousands his mom had produced, he hoped that the gesture would be enough.

Charlie wasn't exactly a great chef. The only cooking experience Charlie had was levitating chicken livers to dragons from outside an enclosure. But, he had seen his mom with countless magazines and cookbooks with lots of different recipes in them. As long as he followed the instructions, how hard could it be?

 _Finally_ , Charlie had all of the recipes he needed raiding his mother's stash of cookbooks and magazines in the many cupboards that lined the kitchen walls. He was making all of her favorites: a roast, Yorkshire pudding, and toad in the hole. And he had gotten his ingredients (with some substitutes for the ones he couldn't find or were too expensive).

First, Charlie started on the roast. He mixed the seasoning together, estimating the amounts, and rubbed it on the roast. Then he put it in the oven (which he had forgotten to preheat) and started on his vegetables.

The recipe used potatoes and turnips, but he couldn't find any turnips, so he just skipped them. Same difference, right? By the time he had figured out how to use the knife, it had been 15 minutes and the chunks of the root were terribly uneven. But it would be fine. Same difference, right? He put them in the boiling (actually simmering) water and left that to cook for… ten minutes, the recipe said. He cast a timer charm and waited.

He took the potatoes off when the timer sounded, and drained them, spilling boiling hot water all over his pants and the floor. It would be fine, though. He cast a drying charm and left the potatoes in the sink. Now, all he had to do was wait a half an hour for the roast to be done and then he could move on. What to do? Start on the toad in the hole, of course.

He measured (actually estimated) the flour, sugar, pepper, eggs, milk, and butter into the batter for the dish and mixed it together like he was supposed to. The temperatures for the toad in the hole and the roast for the oven were different, but they were only off by 50 degrees. Same difference, right? Charlie left the oven where it was at and started cooking the sausages.

Ugh. That was the only way to describe his experience cooking sausages. The grease spitting everywhere, the burns (surprisingly nearly as painful as a dragon burn), and the sausages would never be cooked in the middle. By the time they were done, Charlie had mutilated every one of them, splitting them open to see if they were cooked. Nevertheless, it was fine; they were just a little cut up. Same difference, right?

Charlie faithfully put the sausages into the pan with the batter and opened the oven. He just barely managed to put the pan back on the counter before he was doubled over, coughing and choking from the smoke pouring out of the oven. The roast was burned! The recipe had said medium-rare (whatever that was), not burned! Charlie quickly hastened to take the roast out, where he promptly burned his hand, having not put on his oven mitts. He cursed, grabbed the mitts, and pulled the roast out.

After murmuring some charms to clear the air and heal his hand, he examined the roast. After cutting into it a bit, he could see that the inside was still quite bloody. If he scraped off the burnt outside, it would be fine. Same difference, right?

Charlie put the toad in the hole in the oven (which was at the wrong temperature) and went about preparing the vegetables and the rest of the seasoning for the roast. The vegetable had his full attention for a good 25 minutes, and in the process, he forgot the toad in the hole, same as he had forgotten the roast.

Thankfully, the dish wasn't too bad, only (more than) slightly burnt. He could work with that; same difference, right?

The roast and vegetables went back in the oven for another half an hour. Phew! All of this switching between going in the oven and taking things out was a lot for Charlie to handle, and the May heat combined with the oven heat was making the kitchen absolutely stifling. Charlie wasted no time throwing open a window and casting a few cooling charms.

Charlie then proceeded to set the table, placing the flowers he had brought earlier in the center. He then sat on the counter, swinging his arms like he used to before his Hogwarts days, completely content thinking about how pleasantly shocked his mother would be when she got home.

Abruptly, he smelled something burning. Damnit, he had burned the roast _again_! He made sure he had his mitts on this time, and quickly took out the roast. He then had to figure out how to carve it. The recipe said something about cutting between the ribs and the eat, and then the fatty portion of the roast (how was he supposed to know where the fat ended and the meat started?). He decided he would just wing it. Same difference, right?

15 minutes later, when he was done, he glanced at the clock. Yikes, it was 3:00. Half and hour until his parents would be home. He checked that everything was set, put the roast and toad in the hole on the table with a warming charm and admired his work. Yet, there was something missing, he couldn't place it…..

He gasped. The Yorkshire puddings! He had completely forgot to make them! Charlie glanced at the clock. He had time; he could make it, if he hurried.

20 minutes later, charlie was sweating. He had the puddings in the oven, but they had only been there for five minutes. He had had to skip some steps too, but same difference, right? He was starting to lose some of that faith.

The Weasley family clock made a noise, and Charlie glance up, panicked. His parents' hands were slowly moving from "traveling" to "home". He didn't have time. The puddings should be done by now, right? He decided to risk it, and took out the pan and set on the table just as he heard his mother calling, "Charlie? Is that you?"

"Yes, Mum, it's me!" he called, trying to sound more confident than he felt.

"It's awfully hot in here, what are you–oh, my, what happened?!" Molly Weasley came home to find her kitchen, her precious kitchen, completely ransacked. Her recipe books and magazines were all in a haphazard pile on the coffee table in the living room, there was flour, potatoes, and batter all over the counter, and a few recipes covered in vegetables and oil sitting there too. The sink was stacked high with dirty dishes, most of which seemed to have burnt food stuck to them.

But the table, the dining table, was beautifully set with flowers and a tablecloth and proper napkins and– what was that? There was a casserole dish with charred batter and bits of meat in it, a huge black lump of meat, and a cupcake pan full of raw batter. _Did Charlie cook this? Is that supposed to be a roast, and oh, toad in the hole, and unbaked Yorkshire pudding, yes that must be it!_ Molly thought. "What, what's all this?" she asked, still flustered at the disastrous state of her kitchen.

"I cooked you dinner. For mother's day." Charlie clarified.

"Oh, my boy come here!" She pulled her second eldest into one of her famous bear hugs.

"I know I'm not the greatest chef, and the food's burnt, and the puddings aren't cooked–"

"Oh, hush. It's the thought that counts."

And in Charlie's head, that translated to: _Same difference._ "Happy Mother's Day, mum."


	3. We've Been Through This

**A/N: This story is written for The Golden Snitch forum's Prompt of the Day challenge! The 5 points should go to the Ilvermorny House of Horned Serpent, please! I hope you enjoy!**

 **Prompt: "Why did you invite_?"**

 **Word Count (not including A/N): 1,644**

It was a clear sunny day on June 2nd. If you looked from one of the many windows along Hogwarts' west wall, you would be able to see Hagrid tending to the pumpkin patch, with Fang bounding by his side. If you looked to the right, even closer, in the distance you would see a huge mass of scarlet making its way slowly but very, very loudly towards the castle. One person, a tall boy with jet black, extremely messy hair and hazel eyes with round glasses, in scarlet Gryffindor Quidditch robes with gold trimming was being hoisted above people's shoulders and was holding a large, glistening, golden cup in the air, shouting himself hoarse with joy. This boy was, of course James Potter and he was holding the Hogwarts Quidditch Cup.

In the middle of the crowd stood the star chaser's best friend, Sirius Black. He was a beater on the team, and was therefore granted a position closest to James, half under him as one of the ones carrying him. Towards the back of the crowd was a short, chubby blonde boy, next to a gangly, thin, tired-looking, sandy haired boy wearing a much-too-large sweater, both cheering as loud as they could. The blonde was, of course, Peter Pettigrew and the tall boy was Remus Lupin, James and Sirius' other two best friends. They were both cheering while simultaneously trying to push their way towards James and Sirius unsuccessfully.

Even though he was a second year like James, Sirius carried his best friend all the way to the Gryffindor common room. Once the Potter heir was set down, he and Sirius waved off the many fans ("We know, we know, you love us, but we have to get this party started," ; "we'll be back in a jiffy, don't worry, with food, yes I promise,") and snuck down to the dungeon leading to a painting of a bowl of fruit. James tickled the pear and it transformed into a doorknob, which he pulled open to reveal a huge kitchen. But instead of wizards and witches working at the stoves, there were hundreds of small, waist-high house elves.

They all turned to the door as it swung open with rapt attention and, once they saw who had entered, swarmed around the two second years, pressing platters into their hands with all of their combined force and chattering loudly on top of each other. The boys eventually managed to obtain large platters of all manners of cakes and desserts, along with five crates of butterbeer bottles, which they levitated back up to Gryffindor tower.

Their arrival was greeted with more shouts of joy than was coming from the tower already. Some sixth years conjured some large tables, where the food was set. Someone brought down their radio and music from the WWN (Wizarding Wireless Network) was blasted loudly. The chairs and desks were cleared from the middle of the room to create a dance floor and the party had officially started.

Naturally, the Quidditch team were in the center of the room and the center of attention. James and Sirius soaked it up easily and were having the best day of their lives.

After two songs, James asked Sirius, "Hey, where are Remus and Peter?" Sirius shrugged and kept dancing, but his grin had diminished a little.

Slowly, but steadily, as if they had heard their friend's question, the crowd parted a bit to reveal a sweaty and disgruntled Peter pulling a tired, but happy-looking Remus into the crowd by his arm.

"Where were you guys?" Sirius asked.

"I left my book at the stands!" Remus called back over the noise, holding up his copy of _Charm Development Through the Middle Ages_. Sirius rolled his eyes and pulled Remus right onto the center of the dance floor with the Quidditch team as James took Peter over to get food. "Sirius!" Remus cried indignantly.

"Come on Remus, it's a party! You have to dance! Forget your book!" He said, banishing it to their dorm with a wave of his wand. "Tonight, you have to have fun! I demand it!"

"I don't dance, Sirius. Please, I'm tired," He shrugged off Sirius' hand from his shoulder. "I've been _sick_ for the past few days," he said, lowering his voice and emphasizing "sick" to indicate his lycanthropy; Sirius could be a little oblivious sometimes.

As James and Peter returned, Sirius was about to respond, no doubt to tell him to stay at least five more minutes, when a deep, thuggish voice cut in, "Hey, who's this wimp? He's not on the team!"

Another similar voice said, "Yeah, and who's the fatass next to James?"

Two boys, the keeper and another chaser were pointing at Remus and Sirius and jeering.

Sirius found the source of the voices and pushed his way towards them, still towing Remus along with him. James followed with a reluctant and scared-looking Peter. "Their _names_ are Remus and Peter! You got a problem with them, huh?" Sirius spat in their faces.

The keeper retorted, "You bring them here?" Sirius and James nodded. "Why did you invite them?"

" _Remus_ and _Peter_." James snarled.

"Fine, fine, why did you invite _Remus_ and _Peter_ then?"

"Because they're our friends. Our _best_ friends!" Sirius added hotly.

The chaser snorted. "Your best friends are a butterball who eats all day and is practically a Squib," (he paused to snicker even more) "-and an anorexic little bookworm who's probably a fa-"

He was cut off by Sirius' square punch to his jaw. "Shut up!" James roared. "You don't know what you're talking about!"

Sirius attempted to kick the chaser, but got blasted away with a hex from the keeper, as did James. They were knocked back into the sea of people, who had stopped partying and had been watching the impending fight with keen interest, ignoring the music still loudly blaring from the radio. Peter was still cowering to the side of the clearing that the Quidditch players had been fighting in.

Sirius got up and was ready to have another go at the other players, but James held onto his shoulder and pointed to the portrait hole, where they could see Remus with his oversized sweater slinking out of the common room with his head bent down.

Sirius began to push people out of the way to follow the werewolf while James fetched Peter with a withering glare at his teammates.

Sirius had just made his way out of the portrait hole when Remus was at the end of the hallway, walking quickly and about to round the corner.

"Remus! Remus, come back! We took care of those guys, you don't have to worry about them anymore! Remus!" Remus either hadn't heard him, or was ignoring him, which was probably the case since Sirius was a very loud person.

Sirius took off in pursuit, which just made Remus walk faster. "Remus, where are you going?" No answer. "Come back to the party, we won't let those guys bother you!" Nothing.

"Merlin's saggy bollocks, Remus, talk to me!" Sirius had finally caught up to him. He put a hand on the boy's shoulder, spun him around to face him and stared in shock. Silent tears were cascading down Remus' face.

"Why are you following me? I just want to be alone," he whispered.

"What do mean why am I following you? I needed to make sure you were okay. And clearly, you're not." Remus opened his mouth to reply, bue Sirius interjected, "And I'm not leaving until you tell me exactly why you're upset."

Remus paused, knowing that Sirius would make good on his promise. Finally, he gave up and whispered, "You heard what they said back there, Sirius. They're right. Why would you guys want to be friends with me? You and James are Quidditch stars and you're popular and loud and funny and I'm…..me."

"What do you mean you're you? Of course you are," Sirius said, bewildered.

"What I _mean_ ," Remus said. "Is that I-we don't have anything in common. I'm bookish and quiet and no one really likes me, and, and, and, I'm a _werewolf_ , for Merlin's sake, Sirius! Don't you see why you shouldn't want to be friends with me?"

"You don't want us to be friends with you?" Sirius asked.

"No!" Remus' head shot up. "No, I do, I really like being friends with you guys. Um, it's just-"

"Well, I don't see why there's a problem, then, Moony," Remus looked at Sirius in astonishment. "You want to be friends with us, we want to be friends with you, so it's settled! We're friends!"

"You…. don't care that I'm a werewolf? And what about James and Peter?"

Sirius sighed. "I thought we'd been through this in February, Moony. No, we don't care that you're a werewolf. _I_ actually think it's really cool."

"Trust me, it's not."

Sirius waved him off, back to his cheerful self. "And as for James and Peter, I know they don't care."

"He's right; we don't," said a familiar voice from down the hallway. The two boys turned to find James and Peter, sweaty and out of breath at the corner. "Sweet Merlin, could you guys have found a harder place to find?" James asked.

"And no, Remus, we don't care. Do we, James?" Peter said, prodding James in the back.

"What? Oh, yeah, Remus we've been over this. We don't think that being a werewolf makes you any less Remus."

"Alright Moony?" Sirius asked. "Right, let's get you back to the common room so we can kick thei-"

"Moony?" James asked.

Sirius colored. "Oh, yeah, well I thought Remus needed a nickname and well, Moony seemed to fit?" he asked.

"That is _so_ obvious," Remus wiped his tears away. "But I could get used to it," he said with a grin.


	4. Rebuilding What Is Left

**A/N: This story was written for the Golden Snitch forum's Prompt of the Day challenge. points should go to Horned Serpent house of Ilvermorny.**

 **Prompt (emotion): drained**

 **Word Count (not including A/N): 843**

Harry Potter was slumped against the wall, or what was left of the wall, of the Great Hall in Hogwarts. He surveyed the casualties of the Battle of Hogwarts. There were so many–many, many more than Harry ever meant there to be. In fact, no one was supposed to die for him, in his ideal world.

Harry surveyed the weeping, wailing family members of the dead and the quietly celebrating members of the light side. Almost everyone expected him to be doing one of these too, but he wasn't. The urge to cry had been stamped out of him by the Dursleys long ago. He felt sadness, deep sadness, at the deaths of his friends, family, and allies, but he wouldn't or couldn't cry over them. And though Voldemort was dead and gone, he wouldn't be celebrating either, because of the cost. The cost of all of the wonderful, heroic people who died for him, Harry. That tally was meant to be 0.

Harry Potter did feel sad, and a little ecstatic, but those were heavily overshadowed by the overwhelming drained feeling. Harry was drained of emotion; perhaps it was a protective instinct and he would feel the full blow of his emotions later. He was drained of happiness; all he had known for the last 10 months was danger, fear, and uncertainty. He was also drained of purpose; all his life, Voldemort was always the common enemy, the thing his life had been pledged to defeating since he was one years old. He had been living and fighting to rid the world of that evil, and now that it was gone, what was he supposed to do? Maybe he didn't have to do anything, or maybe he wouldn't do anything, and just waste the rest of his life away.

So Harry sat, drained, against the crumbling wall of Hogwarts, feeling and thinking nothing.

He started when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see the grimy, blood-stained faces of Ron and Hermione. Ron had placed his left hand on Harry's shoulder, while his right was clasped in Hermione's left. Harry glanced at their hands and gave them a ghost of a smile. They both looked relieved. No one asked if everyone was okay, because they all knew no one was. The war would leave scars, deep ones, but they had each other to get through it.

Without speaking, his best friends led Harry to the Weasley family, all who were bent over a stretcher. When Harry approached, Charlie and Mrs. Weasley turned. Harry looked down, preparing himself for an onslaught of blame and anger. After all, this war was fought because of him. But the onslaught never came.

Harry found himself wrapped in a bear hug and his shirt being saturated by Mrs. Weasley's tears. "What–" he started, but he was interrupted by Mrs. Weasley's sobs.

"You brave, brave boy." She whispered. "You've saved us all. Don't deny it." And she went back to mourning Fred with her family. Harry stayed for a minute to pay his respects, but the guilt overtook him and he walked away. He passed Lupin and Tonks, pausing to hold their limp hands and apologize. He automatically made his way up to Gryffindor tower, and surveyed the casting a long look at the remains of the fireplace and the hearth he and his friends had sat by, plotting in their former school years, he made his way to the remnants of his dormitory. There was his former bed,the hangings burnt. And Harry sat.

After around twenty minutes, there were fast footsteps on the stairway. Harry stood, the instincts ingrained in him in the last 10 months kicking in, newly-repaired wand at the ready, anticipating an attack or someone fleeing from bad news. And there, standing in the doorway, was Ginny Weasley.

The sight of her mangled mane of fiery red hair, her brown eyes, sparkling even after the battle, her stance indicating her refusal to go down without a fight, even now, with the loss of her brother. The sight gave harry life, purpose, happiness, and he didn't feel so drained anymore.

"Ginny," he breathed, and his wand fell from his hand as he made his way towards her. In a second, he was holding her, and all was right in the world. He felt a wetness on his shirt and saw that she was crying. "What's wrong?" He pleaded softly.

"You were dead," she whispered, and the words broke his heart. "You made me think you were dead. And, and I didn't know what to do and, and then you were gone and–"

"Shhh," Harry consoled her. "I'm here, I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying with you, right here, and we can be together now that this will all be over."

"You promise?" She tilted her head up to look straight at his eyes, her gaze fierce but her voice sounding very small.

"I promise," Harry vowed without breaking eye contact, and sealed the promise with a kiss.


	5. Making The World Just Us

**A/N: This was written for the Golden Snitch forum's Prompt of the Day challenge. Points should go to Horned Serpent of Ilvermorny, please :)**

 **Prompt: (dance) tango**

 **Word Count (not including A/N): 579**

Cho sat on a table on the side-lines, glum as she watched Marietta saunter over to a dark-haired boy and fall into the dance effortlessly, easily capturing his attention. She stared into her drink miserably, counting down the minutes until Marietta had said they could leave, 45 of them. That was, if Marietta didn't accept an invitation from someone she picked up here and went to their house for the night.

Cho drained her drink. _I should be out there, having fun,_ she thought.

 _But you can't dance,_ another voice told her. _You'd just make a fool of yourself._

Cho was an okay dancer normally, but that had been more ballroom dancing from her uptight mother. She had never been taught the more lively, flexible dances, such as the tango, which had just started on the dance floor. A waitress refilled her drink.

Cho watched Marietta transition from the disco music that had been playing previously to the steady march that the crowd moved to now. _How does she do it?_ Cho asked herself as she resigned herself to people-watching. Her eyes glanced blankly off of men and women, not actually noticing them, losing concentration until she was just staring into space.

This stupor vanished when her eyes made contact with a set of dazzling grey ones across the room. Cho shook herself and focused on the owner of said eyes, and she nearly spilled her cup down her front.

Across the room, looking at her, was the most beautiful man she had ever seen in her life. His light brown, wavy hair fell perfectly around his face, and he was smiling at her in a way that made her head spin, very kind with a hint of a playful smirk making an appearance at the corner of his perfectly-shaped lips. And his eyes were absolutely captivating, silver and stormy and gleaming.

He made his way over to her, weaving expertly through the crowd. "Can I sit here?" he asked, indicating Marietta's vacated seat. _A gentleman, too,_ Cho thought as she blushed and nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

"I would have thought that someone as gorgeous as you would have a dance partner already." He said coyly.

Cho ducked her head and responded, "I, uh, I don't know how."

He raised his eyebrows and set his drink down on the table. "Well, I'll just have to teach you then." He stood and offered his hand. Cho raised her head, hardly daring to believe it. Finally, she took it hesitantly and said by means of introduction, "I'm Cho."

"Cedric." He replied, leading her to the center of the dance floor and placing his left hand in hers and his right hand on Cho's waist delicately. "Just put you feet right here," he said, gently guiding her leg. _His hands are soft,_ Cho thought, before turning her attention back to Cedric's instruction. "Now, I'll lead, and all you have to do is follow along. Okay?" Cho nodded and they started to dance.

Him taking control was a good idea, not only because Cedric was a very smooth and elegant dancer, but because it was an incredibly sensuous experience for Cho as well. The way Cedric moved was extremely distracting, but Cho was a fast learner and she concentrated closely. Cedric seemed to have a lot of experience, and soon they were the best dancing couple on the floor, blocking out everyone else and making the world just Cedric and Cho.


	6. Becoming An Auror

**A/N: this story was written for the golden Snitch forum's Jurassic Fever challenge. Points should go to Horned Serpent of Ilvermorny, please :)**

 **Prompt: Iguanodon**

 **Word Count (Not Including A/N): 919**

Tonks tried to take in everything at once as Head Auror Shacklebolt led them through the entrance hall of the Auror department. She had been to the Ministry before with her mother of course, but her mother preferred to make as little visit as possible. Ever since she was disowned, the members of the sacred 28 would always sneak her out her whenever they saw her.

Tonks had never cared of course, and she certainly wasn't thinking about it now, not when she was about to enter her first Auror training session. There have been other doubts about her becoming an Auror from various people, such as the fact she was a Hufflepuff at Hogwarts and had often got herself into trouble at school for her "outlandish" appearances. This resulted in many house points lost and especially bitter professors giving her lower grades than she deserved, but she had made it in the end.

Auror Shacklebolt let the trainees down a hallway that led to a heavy metal door with a small red screen on it. The Head placed the tip of his wand on this screen, and after a few seconds a buzzer went off and the trainees could hear many locks unlocking from inside the door. He strolled in with Tonks and her future colleagues following in a single file line. Once they were all inside the door closed heavily behind them and they could hear the locks re-locking themselves.

"Welcome to the Auror training area." Auror Shacklebolt announced. "This is where you will spend most of your training, and train even after you become fully-fledged Aurors." He pulled a clipboard out of his pocket. "First things first we will take attendance. I expect all of you to be here every day on time unless you are seriously sick or have a legitimate excuse." He eyed them all intimidatingly. "The training is essential throughout the course and missing even one day could hurt your chances of graduating." Tonks heard some people gulp.

Auror Shacklebolt began barking out the names in alphabetical order and Tonks, since she knew she would be near the end, took the time to survey the training area. Along one wall were dummies of all different shapes and sizes. Another wall had targets lining it, with lines very distances away, from shooting so close you would be able to touch the enemy, or all the way across the room, aiming at a pin prick of a circle. Tonks, a very clumsy person, took note to try to get to that station first; maybe it would help her with her aim.

She was shaking out of her observations by the heads deep voice calling, "Nymphadora Tonks."

"Present!" she called. "But I would prefer if you called me Tonks."

Shacklebolt, who had opened his mouth to call the next person, closed it to stare down the skinny girl. "Take this as a warning, Tonks. Disobedience will not be tolerated." He gave a pointed look at her bright pink hair, which was now getting darker, and continue down the attendance list. When he was done, he flipped back to the top of the stack of paper and banished it with a wave of his wand.

"There are six types of training: close combat, distant combat, dueling, hand-to-hand combat, Muggle combat, and endurance. We will split you into groups, you will get to know each other, and then your group will spend 75 minutes in each station, with a 45 minute halfway break. There are specialized Aurors in each station to help you through the first couple of weeks, to see where your strengths are and your weaknesses are, and to work on getting those rough patches up to par. Here are your groups: Pearson, Tate, Lee, Tonks, Lucas…"

Tonks moved to stand by two girls and three boys that had broken off from the group when Auror Shacklebolt had announced the group. One girl had short straight blonde hair and was very tall and elegant in her midnight train he robes. The other was almost comically short compared to the other girl, with a very slim build and bright blue eyes, whose color grabbed Tonks' attention at once.

"Hi all, well, since we'll be training together, I guess I should introduce myself." Tongues said cheerfully. "I'm Nymphadora Tonks, but just call me Tonks because I don't know what my mother was thinking when she named me that." Tonks stuck out her hand to the short blue eyed girl.

After a minute, the girl smirked and shook her hand saying, "Harper Tate, pleasure to meet you."

The tall blonde stepped hesitantly forward and said, "Penelope Lucas." Tonks shook her hand as well. "How did you get your hair like that? All the dyes I've tried from Diagon Alley have never worked nearly that well."

"Oh, I'm a Metamorphmegas." Tonks saw Penelope's eyes widen at her statement.

"Wow," she whispered under her breath as Harper gave a long, low whistle.

"Here I'll show you…"

The first day was long and rigorous, and by the time Auror Shacklebolt dismiss them for break, Tonks was almost falling down. Harper, though she looked small and meek, was incredibly strong and held her up as they walked to the ministry cafeteria. Over the course of their training the favor was returned many times over.

Looking back on that day now, on her first mission with her best friends Auror Tate and Auror Lucas, Tonks knew she wouldn't have gotten through it without them.


	7. She Knows Better Now

**A/N:** **This was written for the Houses Competition for Slytherin House in the practice round. It should earn 5 points, thanks! I've always kinda wanted to write a story from Petunia's perspective, and this prompt gave me the opportunity! The chunk of text in italics is sort of a flashback, and the underlined text is the title. Please read and review!**

 **Prompt (short story): "I wish I were a witch too."**

 **Word count (not including A/N and title): 1,716**

She Knows Better Now

They used to have a good relationship; be on good terms; talk and laugh and play together like any other normal pair of sisters.

Normal. She relished that word. To her it meant natural, it meant familiarity, acceptance. Normal was how her life had always been, what she knew, and she did not want that to change. No, Petunia Evans, if certain of one thing in her life, did not like change or interruption of any kind in her life.

This was why it was a most unwelcome change when Lily started hanging around that Snape boy. He was the first sign of the series of unwelcome changes that were in the next years to come. Petunia supposed she should have realized the boy was a bad omen when the first words he had ever said to her and her sister were, "You're a witch!" Honestly, you don't just say that to a person! But Petunia had kept her cool, and led her younger sister away from the strange, ragged boy like any protective older sibling.

But despite Petunia's warnings against him, Lily continued to hang around that Snape boy, and her freakishness began to become more prominent and more frequent. She had always shown signs of her–magical abilities (looking back even now, Petunia shuddered unintentionally at the mere thought of the word), but Petunia, trying look out for her sister, had consistently warned her against flaunting her peculiar skills, even in private, for fear someone would notice and penalize her for them. Lily had never listened even before the Snape boy had entered her life. With his encouragement and attitude, now she no longer had even a shadow of a doubt that she was normal. Petunia knew better.

* * *

Years later, when Lily received her first letter from that ridiculous school, her parents had been shocked. Petunia, despite her (very strong) doubts, had kept Lily's secret. That morning, as Petunia had watched her parents read the letter, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, she had feared the no-doubt oncoming explosive reaction. She had felt bad for her sister, in that moment, knowing that her parents would finally know her secret and that they would see her for what she was, maybe get her help. However, on the other hand, Petunia felt glad that she would not be alone any longer in her views.

But the reaction Petunia had anticipated had never come. Instead, her parents had embraced her sister, her mother cried and told her not to be scared, that they would always support her; Petunia's father even had the audacity to say that it was the proudest day of his life (even though Petunia got much better grades at school than Lily ever had). Petunia had hardly contained her emotions as she spluttered against her parents' praise and finally, unable to get the words out, stormed to her room. Though her parents looked on briefly in bewilderment before going back to commending Lily, Petunia had no doubt that she knew better.

The rest of that year (Lily's birthday was on January 30th) was the most painful year of Petunia's life. Lily was getting even more attention than she already did being the youngest, the baby of the family and now the new magical wonder. Petunia felt neglected, rejected and out of place any time she was in the same room as her sister, and where her sister was, her parents usually followed. Most of her time at home was spent locked in her room, praying her life to be a dream, or (Petunia was immensely embarrassed by this now and would never admit she had felt this way ever to anyone) that she could turn out to be a witch too, just so that she wouldn't be left alone and neglected in the face of her sister's talents, so that she could be "special" (as her parents put it) as well, so she wouldn't just be the boring, ordinary, non-magical daughter. None of her prayers were answered.

The first day of that September, Petunia tried everything. Stalling, pleading, screaming, crying. But nothing worked. Nothing would prevent her sister from going to King's Cross and getting on the train to her fancy new wizard boarding school.

Petunia started as someone started knocking rapidly on the bathroom door. "Petunia, what are you doing in there? You're going to make me late! I can't miss the train!" Petunia remained silent, sobbing quietly to herself. The door knob started jiggling with the force of Lily trying to come into the bathroom. When the door didn't open, she only struggled harder. Finally, the bolt shot open on its own (Freak! Petunia thought to herself) and Lily forced her way in. She started when she saw her older sister's tears. "Tuney, what's wrong?"

Petunia felt her rage boiling up at the old nickname, the one that Lily had no right to say, the painful reminder of what the sisters once had. Instead of expressing that rage, Petunia just wailed, "I-I…. I wish I was a witch, too! No one cares about me now that you have your...your... your magic!"

"No, I care about you!" Lily cried. "Look, maybe, maybe I can talk to Dumbledore, the Headmaster, and maybe he'll let you in…"

"No! I don't want to go to your freak school! Just leave me alone; forget I ever said anything to you!" And Petunia stormed to her room, wiping up her face and composing herself before going down the stairs to find Lily being comforted by her parents. It doesn't need to be stated, but it was a very tense car ride to King's Cross.

* * *

As the years progressed, Petunia's parents' fascination with what Lily was doing, and what Lily was up to, and have they heard from Lily recently, and does she want to have friends over, and is she still hanging around that Severus boy, became smothering. It was especially so during the summers and holidays, when the girls' parents would flock to their younger daughter and give her endless attention because "we haven't seen her all year, Petunia; come on, be nice". It was Lily this, Lily that. No one ever wanted to hear about how Petunia did in school, or how Petunia's friends were doing, or, when she got to be around 16, if she had a boyfriend. But when Lily got a boyfriend, he was all the family would talk about. When Lily's now-fiance came over for dinner, her parents were the most stressed Petunia thought she had ever seen them. He apparently came from a wealthy, "pureblood" (whatever that meant) family, and his name was James Potter (such a posh-sounding name made Petunia hate the git before she had ever met him) and, after the dinner, according to her parents, he was dubbed "just lovely" and "absolutely charming", "a real gentleman". Petunia went to her room very tersely that night. Unfortunately, Lily followed her.

"Petunia, is there something wrong? Something about James? Did he bother you?" Petunia didn't respond. "Come on, talk to me, I don't know what's going on–"

"Well you wouldn't know, would you?!" Petunia burst out. "Not with you soaking up all the attention, and no one paying me any mind! No, I'm just the stand-in, the first try, the failed experiment, the only daughter who didn't turn out magical! No cares about me, not when they've got the perfect, magically gifted, oh-so-talented daughter standing picture perfect just waiting to be praised for doing nothing! Waiting to be compared to me, just to make yourself look that much better! Well guess what?! I don't care!" she screamed. "I don't care that you're magical or that you went to a special boarding school, or that everyone cares about you so much more, or that you're perfect without trying, or that you have a perfect fiance and a perfect life all lined up for you! I don't care! And you don't even appreciate it! You don't realize how lucky you are because everyone adores you! No one cares about me! You don't know what that's like! No one asks about my friends, or my school, or just how I'm doing, or if they want to meet my boyfriend, or if I even have one! Because yes, I do have a boyfriend, even if no one thinks I'd be able to get one, and his name's Vernon and he treats me the way I deserve and he's ten times the man your James Potter–" she spat the name venomously, "–will ever be!" Petunia finished her rant out of breath and red-faced. Lily was pale and looked stunned. Lily looked as if she was about to respond, but she simply turned and stalked out of the room, wiping the tears streaming freely down her face in vain. Petunia had collapsed on her bed and fell into a fitful sleep.

That had been the last real communication the sisters had had. They had only communicated through terse, short letters until there was no way to communicate any more; until that fateful Halloween when Petunia had received a more lengthy letter from that name she remembered from far back into her past, Dumbledore, and a baby in a basket on her doorstep.

* * *

Now, holding her granddaughter in her arms, Petunia wondered why she had ever put her innocent nephew, who had received her unyielding hate through no fault of his own, into that cupboard. Because, holding her granddaughter, with the green eyes that she must have inherited from Petunia's mother, the eyes that were oddly but clearly reminiscent of Lily's, she couldn't help but think of her nephew, and how she had heedlessly imparted the worst thing you could on a child, something she had experienced first-hand: neglect. She had promised not to do that to her own son, but now she could see that she had done that exact same thing to her nephew. As she berated her past self for her pettiness and ignorance, she simultaneously made a vow: she would redeem herself. She would make sure this grandchild, and any others after it, were treated equally and would know that they were loved fiercely. She may not have done that with her son and nephew, but she could try again, right? After all, she knew better now.


	8. Familiarity

**A/N: This is my last story written for the Houses Competition forum in the practice round. Points should go to Slytherin house, thanks!**

 **Theme: Revealing a secret**

 **Prompt: brother**

 **Word Count (not including A/N): 663**

Familiarity

A knock sounded on the door to the Gryffindor 7th year boys' dorm. Harry looked up from his seat on his bed where he had been polishing his broom. "Come in," he called.

Not surprisingly, it was Hermione, leading Ron in by the hand as well. Harry's two best friends took up their now instinctual positions sitting next to each other on Ron's bed and facing Harry. A long, semi-uncomfortable silence followed; the trio was quite used to being in silence together, but there was the tension of something waiting to be said in the air.

Harry slowly put his broom back in its case and cleaned up the polishing tools. He turned back to Ron and Hermione and noticed that they still hadn't let go of each other's hands.

The trio had been friends for over 7 years, so awkwardness was all but vanished from their gatherings, at least most of the time. Harry found this newfound tension very unnerving. So, in a desperate attempt to sound casual, he asked in a horribly fake voice, "So, uh, what's up, guys?" All three of them just barely refrained from cringing at Harry's tone.

Ron and Hermione exchanged a glance and, after having a non-verbal argument, Hermione look down in defeat and started, "Well, um, Harry….." she started. "We, that is, I mean, Ron and I, have something that we've been meaning to tell you for a little while now, I mean, it hasn't been that long, we would never keep something really important from you for a long time.."

Harry smiled. "Hermione, you're rambling. I know you guys wouldn't keep something from me, and I'm pretty sure I have an idea what it is anyway," he smirked, nodding towards their still intertwined hands. Hermione blushed and Ron's ears turned red, but neither of them made any move to stop holding hands.

"So, is it official? Did it finally happen? Are you finally together?" Harry fired off his questions with a growing smirk, and at his last question he clasped his hands together, put them near his face and swooned, so that it was a ridiculous imitation of someone reminiscing a sickly sweet memory.

Ron kicked him and spoke for the first time in their conversation. "Yes, you tosser, we're official. Merlin, you don't have to be so dramatic."

"But Harry," Hermione started nervously. "Are you OK? Like, is this relationship OK with you? Because we're your best friends and if you don't like it…" Ron's glance shifted to her nervously for a second and then back to Harry, awaiting his response.

"No, yeah, I'm totally fine with you guys being together and all. I mean, it would be a bit hypocritical of me, seeing as me and Ginny are together…"

"Yeah, I'm still getting used to that. It might take me a while," Ron said nervously while looking at the floor. "And I know I told you this, but if you ever do anything to hurt her, I will not hesitate to make you pay, best friend or no."

Harry nodded. "And the same goes for Hermione," he warned. Ron looked at him incredulously.

"Mate, I know that you care about her, but she's not your sister."

Harrys gaze turned cold. "Isn't she? With all that we've been through, she's my sister in everything but blood." Harry gave his best friend a glare that dared him to question the statement. Ron ducked his head in shame.

"So the same rules apply. You hurt her, and there will be consequences. I'm sure that your family will not hesitate to agree either." By this time, Hermione's eyes were shining with unshed tears at the display of affection her brother had just shown. They smiled at each other, and the conversation was done.

"So, gobstones?" Ron asked as he rose from his place on the bed. Harry nodded and the trio walked down to the common room, the awkwardness vanished and the familiarity restored once more


	9. Now I Know

**A/N:** **This was written for the Houses Competition for Slytherin House, round 1. Enjoy!**

 **Summary: Severus screws up his friendship with Lily - possibly forever.**

 **Category: Drabble**

 **Prompt: "I didn't mean that!"**

 **Word count (not including A/N): 839**

Now I Know

It started out as a pretty normal day on Severus' part. Not to say that the day was a good day, only a normal, every-day day.

Severus' normal day started with navigating his way through the Slytherin house's thinly-veiled, polite-sounding conversation about the goings-on in the tightly-knit, wealthy, pureblooded society, mostly about whose children had recently joined a group of pureblood-supremacists called Death Eaters led by a man who called himself Voldemort. Severus was mildly interested, but seeing as he didn't get along with most of the Slytherins, it was best for him not to get caught up in their conversation. The next part of his normal day included eating breakfast and getting to classes, which he trudged through until potions, the one class he allows himself to excel in, seeing as it was the only thing that brought him joy in his lonely life.

The only true friend Severus had was a Gryffindor muggleborn named Lily. He had harbored a crush on her ever since third year, but it never seemed to be returned. Severus' crush was also one of the reasons he viciously hated James Potter, a member of a group of Gryffindor bullies called the Marauders, because he also had recognized Lily for the amazing person she was, but was much more vocal about it.

But recently Severus had found himself more and more alone and spending less time with Lily than he would have liked. He would have hung around his fellow Slytherins and been more enthusiastic about joining Voldemort if it wasn't for Lily's blood status. Being a pureblood-supremacist group, they were highly against (and probably willing to kill) any person not of wizard descent. Most of the Slytherins were of pure blood (Severus was a half blood), and took to calling people of muggle descent "mudblood", an extremely offensive derogatory term for someone who was muggleborn. Severus was all too aware of this.

While reading an advanced potions book outside against a tree, Severus heard a loud crowd of giggling girls coming towards him, covered in red, the Gryffindor color. Lily might be there. He scanned the group for her red hair and sure enough, he saw her in the center, laughing and chatting without a care in the world.

"Lily!" he called. She turned at his voice and gave him a small smile. Her friends gave him disapproving glares (typical house rivalry) that he ignored.

"Hi Sev!" Lily said as she came over to him. "What are you reading?"

"Moste Potente Potions," he replied. Lily frowned.

"Isn't that from the restricted section?" She asked. Severus looked down, abashed. Lily was about to start reprimanding him when a blonde, red-clad girl, one of her Gryffindor friends, strutted over to her side.

"Lily, why're you even talking to this slimy Slytherin?" She acted as if Severus wasn't even there.

Lily sighed. "I've told you Marlene, he's not like that. Right Sev?" She turned to look Severus in the eye and his stomach fluttered.

"No, I'm not like that at all. And you know," he continued cautiously. "I'm not the only one. Not all of us think like that."

Marlene snorted. "As if. You're just saying that to save your own skin, so that Lily will be friends with you." Severus ground his jaw and tried to cut in, but she barreled on. "Anyway, she sees the people you hang around. Mulciber, Avery, Nott, Rosier, I could go on. We all know that they're just begging to be let into Voldemort's group as soon as they get out of Hogwarts, and you're most likely following in their footsteps." She finished smugly.

Severus stood up. "Well, you know Sev, she does have a point." Lily cut in. Severus whirled to face her. "The Slytherins are really shady, and they do seem the type." she said tentatively.

For some reason, this made Severus really angry. "You don't know what you're talking about, you Mudblood." He regretted it as soon as the word left his lips.

The reaction was immediate. Lily's mouth was slightly parted, unable to believe what she had just heard, the hurt fresh and vivid in her bright green eyes. Her friends, who had come to her side during the argument, were now shouting obscenities at him, and a few had their wands out and were firing stinging hexes at him.

Severus deftly cast a shield around himself and cried, "Lily, I didn't mean that! Lily, wait, come back, I can explain!"

"You don't have to," she growled, deathly quiet, her hurt now replaced by a cold fury that was clearly visible. The crowd around them became still. "It was clear enough what you think of people like me." Lily used the stillness of the crowd to run away then, her face already in her hands.

Severus made a lunge to go after her, but was pinned to the tree he had been reading against by James Potter. How did he get here? Severus thought as he muttered a quick levicorpus and began to run.


	10. Now I Hope

**A/N: This was written for the Houses Competition in Round 1 for Slytherin House. Deamus if you want ;)**

 **Prompt: (short story) forgotten memory**

 **Word count (not including A/N): 1,667**

All it had taken was two days. Two days into the Carrows' reign before Dean knew that he couldn't stay.

He didn't know for certain whether he had magical blood or not, but it wasn't worth it to risk it. The Ministry's Muggleborn Registration Commission was being put into action by the end of the week. Dean couldn't stay.

He could escape relatively easily through the Room of Requirement (on the first night of school Ginny had already established a safe-house for muggleborns and any "blood traitors" who wouldn't stand for the Carrows' rules), and he knew about a few groups that were stationed around certain towns to help escapees. But just one thing was holding him back. Seamus.

Seamus, who had been Dean's best friend since day one. Seamus, who was the only person who truly understood him and the only person Dean truly understood in turn. Seamus, who brought the only light to Dean's life in these dark times, since his mother had been killed in a "random" explosion (the Ministry had gone to hell; neither officials nor the Prophet acknowledged Voldemort's hate crimes as what they were). Seamus, who couldn't run away.

His mother had forbidden it, forcing her son to vow, to make the Unbreakable Vow, that he wouldn't run. She claimed that it was safer, that he wouldn't be at risk of punishment if he couldn't run. But punishment was unavoidable at Hogwarts for anyone and everyone. So Dean ran. Without Seamus.

.oOo.

Sitting in the forest of his namesake with Ted Dirk, Gornuk, and Griphook, he scratched aimlessly at a spare piece of parchment with a Muggle pencil. He had been worried sick about Seamus, berating himself for leaving his best friend with those sick people, leaving him in danger and with no way of escape. Dean's mind drifted off to the last time he saw Seamus, in the Room of Requirement….

 _"You're leaving," Seamus said. It wasn't a question._

 _"Yeah…." Dean looked down, knowing he was to blame for leaving Seamus to the Carrows' wrath. "Listen, Shay, I'm really sorry about… everything. I'll try to write or contact you or-"_

 _"Don't be sorry," Seamus replied gruffly, though it was clear that he was hurt and wanted to go with Dean badly. "The circumstances are what they are, you wouldn't be able to change them. Just…" he finally made eye contact with Dean. He could see the worry and the pain in the sandy-haired boy's eyes. Finally, he left only two parting words. "Be careful." Dean didn't need the "for me" to be spoken aloud to hear it._

 _"You too," Dean whispered to the wind as he climbed through Ariana Dumbledore's portrait._

Dean snapped out of his reverie before he started crying. He glanced down at his parchment as Ted passed him a sausage link. Taking a small bite (he needed to savor it while it lasted; who knew when they would find food next), he decided to draw Seamus to calm himself and keep his hands occupied.

He started by outlining the head, trying his best to get the immaculate angle of Seamus' jawline perfect, but he knew he would never be able to do it justice, even with all of the practice he had secretly had in the common room. But when it got to the actual features, the hair and the nose and the eyes and the lips, Dean paused. He couldn't remember what Seamus looked like. Disturbed, for Dean had always remembered what Seamus had looked like without trouble, he closed his eyes and tried to picture Seamus' face. But all he came up with was that last time they had met, with Seamus turning away and saying dejectedly, "Be careful." Dean couldn't remember his face.

Dean stood up quickly and walked behind the tree he was sleeping by (they didn't have tents). He sat leaning against the trunk, trying and trying to remember Seamus' face and failing every time. He couldn't remember. All he had was the memory of when he had escaped Hogwarts. But without being able to see Seamus' face clearly, it felt like a significant part of the memory was missing, gone, forgotten, and it just made the memory that much sadder. As hard as Dean tried, he couldn't get that forgotten memory out of his head, and tears streamed silently and consistently down his face for the whole time he was on watch duty that night.

.oOo.

Dean was cheering, but his mind was elsewhere. Harry had defeated Voldemort and the war was over, and they had won, but Dean Thomas' worries had not settled. His mind was on Seamus.

When the fighting had stopped briefly for an hour so that Harry could be handed over to Voldemort, the rest of the light side had been tending to their wounded and dead, making sure loved ones were alive, for they had no intention of giving up their savior. Dean had looked and looked and looked, but he hadn't seen Seamus. In a way, this was comforting because he hadn't seen him on the line of cots carrying the fallen warriors or on the queue of waiting wounded, but Dean hadn't see him helping wounded or recovering on the steps like others who fought for themselves had.

And then the Dark Lord had come out of the forest to make the dreaded announcement: Harry Potter was dead. Was dead, not is, because by some miracle, Harry had come back to life and defeated the darkest wizard of all time for the last time.

People flooded Hogsmeade and the school grounds, cheering and screaming. Dean saw many people he knew, people he had grown up with, centaurs and goblins and wizards alike, and the mermaids had come up from the black lake while the giants made the ground tremble with their retreating footsteps, only serving to fuel the light side's excitement. But amidst the chaos, Dean could not see Seamus. He should have been right in the center smothering Harry with all of the hero's closest friends, but he wasn't. Yet no one noticed the Irishman's absence. The celebrations continued.

And it all lasted for around five minutes. Five minutes before people remembered that there wasn't just a victory, but also a cost. A cost that was lying on rows of cots inside the damaged castle, stiff, cold, hollow-eyed and lifeless. Dean prayed, along with many survivors praying for their loved ones, that Seamus was not included in the death toll.

Many people went back inside the castle to say goodbye to their dead before they were buried. People who had already lost everybody wandered around the grounds aimlessly, sharing firewhiskey and butterbeer. Dean went towards the lake.

He hadn't found Seamus yet, and he was starting to doubt he ever would. Careless of the mermaids and countless other creatures in the lake, he took off his shoes and swilled his feet in the water, reliving every good memory he could think of with Seamus. A coldness that had nothing to do with the water seeped into his chest.

He stood up suddenly, taking off running in his bare feet towards the Forest. No one stared. Except one.

The lanky, thin Irishman was indistinguishable if you had seen him at the beginning of the school year. His hair had been shaved in a buzz cut and his ribs showed prominently through his skin. His body was littered with scars and bruises: proof of the Carrows' abuse. He watched as the dark skinned boy sat down with his feet in the lake and think. Unlike the owner of the eyes that followed him, the runaway's hair was incredibly long, frizzy and out of control, with a little stubble growing on his chin. He too looked skinny and was covered in the same dust from the ancient walls of Hogwarts that many of the fighters were.

Seamus watched Dean grow sadder and sadder until his spine had curled in on itself and his head was almost touching his knees. Seamus almost jumped when Dean sprung up and ran towards the Forest. Not knowing what he was going to do, Seamus ran after him.

"Dean! Dean! Wait! Where are you going?!" He called, but Dean didn't hear him, or didn't want to. Seamus knew Dean was upset that he couldn't run away, but how far did that anger go?

It's not him, Dean thought as he ran as fast and as far as he could, away from the memories of Seamus. Seamus is gone. You're never going to see him again and it's your fault. You should have made run with you. A dark voice whispered the doubts and fears that Dean had built up over the year to him in a taunting but convincing voice.

Dean finally collapsed, out of breath in a clearing by the edge of the forest, not caring about potential dangers in any form. He just wanted Seamus back, but didn't dare to get his hopes up as he heard Seamus' voice haunting his mind. I wish you were real.

"Dean?" Seamus called. He didn't turn around. "Dean!" he called as he recognized his best friend. "Can you hear me? Are you hurt? It's me, Seamus!" No response. "Dean!" He cried one last time, getting desperate.

Dean finally succumbed to the games his mind was playing with him and turned to acknowledge the memory of Seamus. But he looked so real, so tangible, and it was too much. The tears finally spilled over, just as they had done so many times that part year under some random tree.

Trying to find words, Dan managed to garble out, "Alive?"

Seamus didn't need any more words to know exactly what Dean needed. "I'm standing right here aren't I?" Dean collapsed into happy tears.

And Seamus was there, comforting him, hugging him, holding him. Seamus placed a kiss on Dean's forehead as if it was the most natural thing in the world, a forgotten memory no longer.


	11. Keep Me Out

**A/N: This was written for The Houses Competition, Round 1. Points should go to Slytherin house; thank you!**

 **Theme: rejection**

 **Prompt:** **"You betrayed me."**

 **Word count (not including A/N): 1,357**

Keep Me Out

It took days, but Severus eventually found it. The Gryffindor common room. Yes, even with all of the hexes and jinxes and over-protectiveness from the now wary Gryffindors, especially Potter and his Marauders. Severus even thought the word with venom.

It was worth his time though. His slip of the tongue by the Black Lake with Lily last week had cost him dearly. Lily wouldn't

speak to him or even look at him, the Marauders had a justified reason to hex him with more malice and more frequently than they already did, and he got dirty looks from teachers and students alike. The congratulations he received from his fellow Slytherins for "finally coming around" did nothing to comfort him; in fact they made him feel worse.

He hadn't meant to do it. Hearing the slur so often within his housemates, he had almost forgotten how offensive it was. If he was honest, he had almost forgotten that the word "mudblood" was even offensive at all. And his mindlessness had cost his friendship with his only true friend.

Gathering all of his courage (the irony), Severus knocked on the frame of an enormous painting of a Fat Lady in a pink dress. The sound echoed off of the empty halls for a few seconds until she finally looked imperiously down at him, knowing he was not of her house.

"Password?" She asked as she always did, but this time with a just barely hidden smirk.

Severus frowned. "I, um, uh, I don't, uh,

know the password exactly. You see, I'm not actually a Gryffindor.."

"I noticed," she scowled, glancing at his green and silver tie. She pursed her lips. "Why are you here, seeing as this is obviously not your dormitory?"

"Well, I, um, I need to speak to Lily

Evans; is she in there?"

The Far Lady's scowl intensified. "You're Severus Snape, aren't you?" Severus nodded, bewildered. "I've heard the gossip, about how that Evans girl was insulted, ridiculed, by one of her best friends, only for her blood status. The poor girl has been crying every night since Tuesday, staying awake most of the night in the common room. I assume that you're the 'Sev' who said that to her. It's no surprise that you're a Slytherin."

A huge weight settled on Severus' heart as the news of Lily's wellbeing. His determination resolved even more to make it up to her. "I-I actually came to apologize to her. To Lily. Can I see her please?" He added the "please" on with some difficulty, as he was getting frustrated with the portrait but knew that rudeness would get him nowhere.

The Fat Lady stared him down for a full minute before finally replying, "Fine, I'll send someone to get her, but be warned, you may have to get a running start away from her friends." She turned away from her frame, disappearing into Gryffindor tower before Severus could retaliate to her rib at his and Lily's friendship.

After a few long minutes that Severus spent hoping he wouldn't be caught, Marlene McKinnon's head emerged from behind the portrait. Her normally pretty face contorted into a scowl when she saw Severus. "We thought it might have been you." She muttered as if to herself, but loud enough for Severus to hear. "Get out of here, Snivellus, Lily doesn't want anything to do with you!" She called, still not moving her head from right next to the frame, with the rest of her body hidden behind the painting.

"I still want to speak to her!" Severus said, now even more agitated at the nickname that was normally used only by Potter and his friends.

Marlene scoffed. "That's not how it works, Snivellus." She started to retreat back into the tower.

Severus, losing hope that he'd ever get to talk to Lily, called, "Wait! Please, can you tell her I just want to apologize and make it up to her?"

Another scoff. "Yeah, right. You just want to gain her trust again. She's not stupid, we know how you Slytherins operate: you never do anything unless you get something out of it." She took her wand out from her robe pocket. "Now, if you don't scram, Snivelly, I'm going to make sure you wish you had never had the privilege to meet Lily!" Marlene finished in a shrill yell.

"Hold on, I just want to talk to her-" Severus started, determined to apologize.

Marlene raised her wand, opened her mouth and-

"Marlene, stop! You don't have to hurt him." A quiet, all-too-familiar voice that made Severus' heart leap after hearing it for the first time in so long and then plummet after hearing the sorrow in it commanded. "I'll speak to him."

"But, Lily, you don't have to-"

"No, I'll speak to him."

"We can come with you, make sure he doesn't hurt you-"

"Marlene, I'm perfectly capable of defending myself." Lily stated firmly as she pushed past her friend into the hallway. "Go back inside. It's my problem," she waved her housemates away.

Finally, Lily turned to Severus so that he saw her clearly for the first time in a week. Her dark red hair was in an extremely messy bun that looked like it hadn't been brushed or washed in days and her face was pale, which made the dark circles under her eyes that much more prominent. She looked like she hadn't slept or eaten since that day. Severus still thought she was stunning, and his whole speech and apology that he had spent many class periods painstakingly crafting flew out of his head at the sight of her. "Lily, I-"

"What do you want, Snape?" Ouch. He had gone from affectionate nickname to surname, one that he didn't much like either, thanks to his father.

"I wanted to apologize. Lily, I never should have-"

"You've made it perfectly clear what your beliefs are; I can't change that. There's nothing more to be said. You can leave." She said slowly and deliberately.

"Lily, I'm sorry. I don't believe that you're any less than any pureblood-"

"Our last conversation, if you could call it one, begs to differ!" Lily spat, looking on the verge of shouting and crying at the same time.

"Lily, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it-"

"Didn't you?" She whispered.

"No, I didn't mean it! I've said it before and I'll say it again, I'm sorry. But I know I didn't mean it and you know I didn't mean it so why can't we-"

"No! I don't know!" Lily screamed, and finally broke down crying. "I don't know whether you meant it or not! You've said you don't think like those guys, but all of your actions say otherwise! And we can't go back to being friends just because you said sorry because, because I can't even tell if you're a good person or not!"

Severus felt as though his heart had been ripped out and was being crucioed.

"You betrayed me, Sev," she whispered. "I thought that you were a good person, that you wouldn't let blood status come between us, and I trusted you not to let it come between us, but you did! I'm called a mudblood every day by people who hate me, despise me, for what I am, a mudblood-"

"Don't call yourself that!" Severus bellowed, losing his quiet composure for the first time in their argument.

"Says you!" She retaliated shrilly. "I'm called that every day by people who hate me and who I hate in turn, but I never thought that one of my best friends, someone I trusted, would think so lowly of me."

"I don't think lowly of you at all-"

"I'm not so sure believe that." Severus was stunned into silence.

"Get out, Snape. Go back to your bigotry, and your hatred, and discrimination and your future Death Eater friends, go back to your life. But keep me out of it."

And with that, Lily went back into the Gryffindor common room, tears streaming down her face, leaving Severus to hastily wipe up his definitely not there tears and walk shamefully back to the dungeons.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: This was written for The Houses Competition, Round 1 and for the Golden Snitch forum's Tiggerific Times challenge. Points should go to Slytherin house for the Houses Conpetition and to Horned Serpent of Ilvermorny school for TGS; thank you! Also, disclaimer: I have never been to London or the U.K. so the address is completely fake!**

 **(Houses Competition) Theme: rejection**

 **(Houses Competition) Prompt: Dumbledore**

 **(TGS) Prompt: (subject) Defense Against the Dark Arts**

 **(TGS) Points: 5 (to Horned Serpent of Ilvermorny, please (: )**

 **Word count (not including A/N): 799**

The fireplace flared green in Minerva McGonagall's office as a visitor entered through the floo. A tall young man, dark-haired and pale, as if he only spent time outside when absolutely necessary, stepped out. An aura of mystery and darkness followed him. This man's name was Tom Riddle.

The Deputy Head looked up from her pape rwork to address the newcomer. "Name?" She asked briskly.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle." The man said through barely moving lips, refraining from spitting the words out as if they were crude.

"Order of business?"

"Applying for the Defense Against the Dark Arts position."

A small curiosity stirred within Minerva at his choice of subject, but she only said, "Allow me to escort you to Headmaster Dumbledore's office. You won't have to wait long." A small sneer formed on the man's face at the mention of the headmaster.

After a long walk through the castle's many corridors and staircases filled with awkward silence, the pair reached a large statue of a griffin.

"Cauldron cake." Minerva said briskly; neither her nor Tom gave any semblance of amusement at the odd password.

The statue rotated slowly to reveal an impressive spiral staircase. Minerva and Tom stepped onto the staircase, and it started spiraling upward, taking them up to the headmaster's office.

Minerva exited the landing quickly. Once he was alone, Tom stepped confidently towards the door and raised his fist to knock. A second before it made contact, a low, calm voice called, "You may come in, Tom."

Huffing in annoyance at the man's perception, Tom strode in swiftly, already irritated. _Let's get this over with quickly, old man._

"Ah, here he is! Come, take a seat. So, you're applying for a teaching job. Who would've thought? Lemon drop?" Before Tom could get a word in edgewise, a round, yellow hard candy was offered to him in Dumbledore's outstretched palm. He stared, so dumbfounded at the man's childish informality that he forgot what he was going to say.

"A what?"

"A lemon drop. It's a muggle sweet I'm quite fond of. Would you like one?"

Tom refrained from making a face of disgust at putting anything non-magical into his mouth. "No, thank you." _I can't believe he'll be my boss._

"Suit yourself." Dumbledore popped the candy into his own mouth instead.

After a considerable silence, Tom prompted, "So, about that teaching position.."

"Oh, yes! Terribly sorry, forgive the slow workings of an old man's mind. Your file, I have it somewhere…." Dumbledore began to rumage through his drawers behind his desk until finally, he muttered, "Accio" and, after much rattling, the folder shot up and then slammed itself onto the desk. "Here we are!"

Dumbledore immediately started rifling through the pages with incredible speed. While he was silent, Tom took the opportunity to finally say something.

"As you can see, I've gotten top marks in almost every subject on my OWLs and took all the necessary NEWT courses for the position."

"Yes, yes, of course.." the man mumbled, absorbed in the paperwork. "Prefect, Head Boy…" He continued down the line through to Tom's grades. "Well, your grades seem to be in order, but what about your experience? Any teaching internships or hands-on experience?"

"I've done extensive research on the dark arts, and how to combat them. I also have a recommendation from a good friend of yours, Professor Slughorn. Here is the parchment, if you'd like to look at it."

Dumbledore took the offered parchment and scanned it. "Well, it seems that you have a very excellent chance of becoming our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Deputy Headmistress McGonagall will escort you out and we'll owl you with your results within the week."

The men stood and shook hands, exchanged pleasantries and Tom was escorted out by McGonagall to await his results.

Four days later, a sleek Hogwarts barn owl flew into Tom's small apartment in Diagon Alley carrying a short letter rolled into a scroll it read:

 _Dear Mr. Tom Marvolo Riddle,_

 _We are sorry to inform you that you have not received the post of Hogwarts' Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Our decision was made when, after a brief review of your Hogwarts courses, Headmaster Dumbledore observed that you did not take a Muggle Studies course at OWL or NEWT level. Muggles possess a danger to the wizarding community as well as magical threats, and it is required that a professor have the knowledge to teach students to defend themselves from all types of danger. A one-year NEWT-level Muggle Studies course is available to aspiring professors such as yourself (see the address below)._

 _Regards,_

 _Minerva McGonagall_

 _Deputy Headmistress_

 _Hogwarts_

 _Extracurricular Wizarding Education (EWE)_

 _485 7th street_

 _London, UK, 43787_

Tom ripped up the letter in fury. _Extracurricular Muggle Studies course. As if!_


	13. For the First Time in 21 Years

**A/N: This was written for The Houses Competition, Round 2. Points should go to Slytherin house; thank you!**

 **Prompt (short story): Reunion**

 **Word count (not including A/N): 1,162**

Light. Blinding light. He tried to shield his face, but found that his hand was being held tightly by someone else's. He contented himself with closing his eyes instead, as the hand in his own felt very comforting and he was loathe to let it go.

Slowly, Remus started to open his eyes as they became accustomed to the light. Suddenly, he sat upright as the memories of his life came flooding back. "Tonks!" He shouted. She had still been fighting in the battle when he died. Now she was all alone. Wait, but then who was holding his hand?

The answer creeped to his mind, and he turned, horrified to see his wife's limp form lying next to him, still holding his hand and giving it her comforting warmth. In the back of Remus' mind, it registered that dead people weren't usually warm, but he ignored it in favor of laying his head on her chest and sobbing.

It was all his fault. He should have known Tonks would follow him into battle and not stay with Teddy and wait for him to come back- or not. Teddy! Who would take care of him? They'd left him! But Remus could hardly blame Tonks for following him; he wouldn't have been able to stay home while people were risking their lives either.

Remus heard footsteps coming towards him, but he was mourning his wife, and paid them no mind. That is, until he heard, "Moony?"

Remus stilled. Only three dead people knew that nickname. Not knowing what to expect, but instantly recognizing the voice, he slowly turned stood up and turned around. He stood face to face with Sirius Black.

"Sirius?" He gasped. "What- How-"

"It is you!" Sirius exclaimed happily. Then his face darkened as he remembered why he was able to see his friend again. "It's you." And without warning, he enveloped Remus in a fierce bear hug. Neither let go while they sobbed into each other's shoulders, overcome with emotions and memories. After a few seconds or an eternity, time didn't matter in death, Sirius pulled back with his hands on the werewolf's shoulders to look at him. "I'm sorry you had to go like this."

"I don't care about me. But Dora-" Remus' voice broke as he looked at his wife, who had not stirred yet. "I should've known she would follow me. And now Teddy's all alone…"

"Hey, look at me." Remus complied. "It is not your fault. She knew what she was risking when she entered the school. You couldn't have done anything. Teddy will be fine. He has Andromeda and Harry and the Weasleys, a very loving family that will take great care of him."

"H-how do you know how we died?" Remus asked, his tears subsiding knowing that at least he'd get to spend his death with one of his oldest friends.

Sirius looked comically offended. "How do I know he asks! As if I haven't been watching you all this time with James and Lily!"

"James and Lily? They're here too?" He'd be reunited with his three oldest friends. He almost smiled.

"Of course! It's the afterlife, isn't it?"

"I'd go to see them, but.." He looked back at Tonks. Suddenly a horrifying thought struck him. "Will she wake up?"

"Eventually. It just takes longer for some people." Sirius assured him. "Now let's take you-"

The two men turned at the sound of quick, hurried footsteps. Remus' face brightened as he spotted a familiar messy, black birds' nest and long, wavy red hair bobbing towards him, the colors in stark contrast to the white surroundings of the afterlife. James and Lily. It had been so long; much, much too long.

"Padfoot, we came as fast as we could! Who-" James was cut off at the sight of Remus standing next to Sirius. The couple stopped, staring in shock at one of their oldest friends standing at the entrance to the afterlife.

Lily found her voice first. "Remus?" She croaked, her voice hoarse. He nodded somberly. Lily rushed forward and threw her arms around him, tears streaming down her face. "Oh, you're here! I mean not that that's a good thing, necessarily, but it's so good to see you again! James! Remus is here!" She said this all in one breath, pulling the three men into a group hug with her. Soon the four of them were crying and hugging together, reveling in being together again without the threat of war looming over them for the first time in 21 years. And when Tonks woke up and realized where she was and who she was with she joined the hug too.

Finally, Sirius announced, "Enough with all this crying! We haven't even gotten the funeral ready!" James and Lily both gasped and readily agreed with him, while Tonks and Remus stood confused.

"Padfoot, don't they host funerals on earth?" Remus quipped sarcastically.

"Remus, as the longer dead and more experienced Marauder here, I think you should let me handle the customs here." Remus, despite himself, grinned at his friend's antics. Sirius was exactly the same in death as in life.

"A person's loved ones host a funeral here too as a welcoming party into the afterlife." Lily explained.

"Aren't funerals generally sad occasions?" Remus asked.

"Trust me, here they're not." James promised. "And with Padfoot involved in the planning, this is going to be a pretty huge explosion of a party."

Remus chuckled, remembering the common room parties Sirius would host when they had been in school. The group began to walk, chatting amiably about each other's lives since they'd seen each other.

Remus ended up walking with Lily and James while Sirius fell back with Tonks. "So, Moony, huh?" He said with a wolfish grin.

"Is that what you call Remus?"

"Mmhmm." Sirius seemed very proud of the nickname he had given his friend. "'Cuz he's a werewolf get it? Like the full moon, Moony-"

"Yeah, I got it Sirius." Tonks rolled her eyes.

"Anyway, you finally worked up the courage to ask him out, huh?"

"Yes."

"And you married him! Oh, you're both all grown up! I can scarcely believe it! Why, it wasn't it only yesterday you were in diapers?" Tonks hit him over the head while Sirius giggled. "And you have a baby!" He skipped up to pull Remus next to him.

"Moony, you old dog! I didn't think that you, of all people would have the courage to-" He was cut off by sharp smacks from both Remus and Tonks.

"Honestly, you are disgusting." Tonks sniffed.

"For all the time he's been dead, unfortunately he hasn't changed a bit." Lily said.

"Oh! My heart! How could you say such things?! Lily, I thought we were friends! Siblings! But you betray me, wound me this heartlessly…" The group couldn't help but break down in fits of laughter as Sirius carried on his antics, happy to have a (mostly) sympathetic audience.


	14. The Forest is Forbidden For A Reason

**A/N: This was written for The Houses Competition, Round 2 and the Golden Snitch forum's Tiggerific Times challenge. Points should go to Slytherin house for the Houses Competition and for TGS, 5 points should go to Horned Serpent of Ilvermorny; thank you!**

 **Houses Competition Prompt (drabble): The forbidden forest is forbidden for a reason**

 **TGS: (character) Minerva McGonagall**

 **Word count (not including A/N): 797**

Something bounced off of the back of Sirius' head and landed under his chair. He turned in annoyance to James, who was smirking in his direction, and then silently looked to see what had hit him. It was a ball of parchment - a note. He picked it up and read:

 _Found some acromantulas in the forest last weekend. Thinking about doing something during Moony's time of the month._

Sirius turned and gave James a thumbs-up while throwing the note to Peter. He read it out of McGonagall's sight and looked fearfully between the two, but Sirius wasn't worried; he always came around in the end. Remus remained oblivious. Sirius and James both knew that he'd never let them attempt if he knew their half-formed plan.

James signaled to his to friends that he'd talk to them after class.

"A tea party!"

"A tea party Padfoot? Really?"

"Why not? I don't see you with any good ideas!"

"Fine, we'll do a tea party."

Remus backtracked from carrying his library books to Madam Pince. What were his friends planning?

"So, who's hosting the tea party?" He asked, sneaking behind Peter, who jumped.

"Remus!" Sirius, the worst liar of the group, cried. "We were just talking about the, you know, the tea party that we told you about, with um, um…"

"-Slughorn!" James saved him. "The tea party with Slughorn! He's still bent on getting Sirius to come to his fancy gatherings, you know, being a Black and all."

Remus, not believing it for a second, but knowing he wouldn't get anything else out of his friends, said, "Oh, okay… You guys should get to studying. OWLs are coming up soon." He walked away from the group's complaints about his shoving the exams down their throats as well as the teachers, forgetting about his speculations the next day.

"Okay, it's 10:30. You got the stuff?" Sirius asked, checking his watch.

"Yes, I have everything." Peter replied.

"I still don't understand why we're doing a tea party." James complained.

"I still don't think this is a good idea in general."

"Shush, Wormtail, you'll be fine. James, I told you, I want to see what happens when you feed an acromantula tea; I heard they get drunk. Besides, it'll be the first werewolf/animagus/acromantula tea party in the history of the world!"

"Fine. Pomfrey should have left the shack by now. Let's go."

Wormtail transformed into a human, setting up the tea and herding the acromantulas into a clearing while Prongs and Padfoot held Moony back. Then he gratefully transformed back into a rat. He didn't like the Highly Discouraged Forest in general, but acromantulas terrified him. He scuttled on top of Padfoot's head while Prongs led Moony to sit at the blanket. The tea poured itself and (with some difficulty) the Animagi and werewolf drank while waiting for the acromantulas to wake up.

Once they finished their tea and the spiders still hadn't woken, the Animagi played games with each other and Moony out of boredom. They got so wrapped up in their game that they didn't notice the stirring acromantulas with their eyes training on the four figures with hunger.

Padfoot, pausing for breath while being chased by Prongs, noticed that the forest was silent no longer. There was a clicking surrounding them that seemed to vibrate the very air. He looked back to Prongs and saw a paw of pincers feet away from him. Padfoot took a running start and jumped toward the acromantula, baring his teeth. Prongs brayed and ran away, startling Moony and Wormtail. None of them knew what happened, but eventually, the foursome was being chased out of the forest with a clan of acromantulas on their tails.

Minerva McGonagall, unknown to any of her students, took an early walk every morning. She had been doing this for as long as she'd been teaching, and had seen some pretty bizarre things along these walks over the years.

But she had never seen a clan of tea-drunken acromantulas stumbling around the edge of the forest next to telltale werewolf tracks. She didn't have any proof, but she just knew that

Potter, Black, and maybe Pettigrew, had something to do with it.

None of the students, save three, knew why there was notice in each of the common rooms saying:

 _The forest at the edge of the grounds was previously labeled the Highly Discouraged Forest due to various dangerous creatures residing there. Even with these warnings, it seems that some students haven't been discouraged enough. Therefore Hogwarts' staff finds it necessary to rename the forest the Forbidden Forest. Students caught in the forest will be punished accordingly._

Or why Potter, Black, and Pettigrew could be seen scrubbing random hallways and classrooms over the two months following the notice.


	15. That's How They Found Them

**A/N: This was written for The Houses Competition, Round 2 and the Golden Snitch forum's Tiggerific Times challenge. Points should go to Slytherin house for the Houses Competition and for TGS, 5 points should go to Horned Serpent of Ilvermorny; thank you!**

 **Houses Competition Prompt: (themed) A huge disappointment**

 **TGS: (pairing) Waburga and Orion Black**

 **Word count (not including A/N): 1,618**

Sirius Black had been taught many things, but one of the things that had been ingrained in his mind since he was 11 was that he was a huge disappointment. There was no doubt in his parents' (Orion and Walburga Black, two of the most prominent and influential figures in the Sacred 28) minds that he did not live up to heir standards.

From the young age of 4, Sirius' parents were already discouraged, seeing that he had been a particularly rebellious child before school. He had never stood long for any proper lessons or training to appear as the perfect pureblooded prince that he was born to be, always running off to find his younger brother, Regulus, and play in the dirt or some other nonsense Walburga never stood for. She had thought that her disciplinarian smacks would have been enough to discourage the child from such antics, but Sirius' spirit was not to be diminished.

Then he had gone to Hogwarts, where Sirius had surprised everyone, including himself, by getting sorted into Gryffindor, the house that rivaled his family's traditional house, Slytherin, more than any other. His parents were furious and made sure to let him know during Christmas and summer break.

But he had made friends, true friends, moreover, the wrong type of friends. A scrawny halfblood, a cowardly Pettigrew and a Potter. The Potters and Pettigrews were purebloods, but they supported muggleborns, going against everything the Black family stood for. It did nothing for Walburga's temper- thank Merlin she hadn't found out that Remus was a werewolf.

Sirius escaped his parents' wrath every summer by staying over at James' house. Though Walburga was loath to let him go without punishment, her happiness at getting her son out of her sight made her more lenient than she would have been otherwise.

Finally, five years later, in a fit of rage, Sirius declared his true views, insulting his family vehemently, an act of disobedience so out of order that Walburga lost all sense. Walburga had only kept him around in the hope that she'd be able to convert him to her views. Now, giving up all hope of that happening, she felt no remorse. After a thorough, bone-breaking farewell, she tossed Sirius out onto the street and burned him off of the family tree, officially disowning him.

On the street was where Sirius now found himself, cold, disowned, hungry, with a broken rib, and nowhere to go. It was pouring outside, though you couldn't see the drops against the inky black night sky. The pain in his side was so great, he thought he might die. Where could he go? His portrait would have been erased magically off of every family member's tree by now, none of his friends were close by, and his parents, for all their hate of them, lived in a concealed house in a Muggle village. He didn't have any means of transportation, and going back inside the house would mean death. So where could he go? What could he do?

I could walk, a small, nearly broken part of him suggested. Elated at having anything, Sirius stood up- and collapsed back down again. The pain was too much. He couldn't function on two feet.

But you don't have to, that voice replied. Sirius almost cried in relief. Summoning his remaining strength, he popped into the form of a dog, and slowly stood up. On four paws, the pain was just barely manageable.

He crawled, slowly but surely, towards the nearest wizard village. Thank Merlin his parents hadn't decided to isolate themselves from the wizarding world. Passing the concealment charm, he felt his ribs shake, but he made it. Glancing around, no one was outside, due to the late hour and pouring rain. Luckily, his father's dealings with numerous shady characters gave Sirius the knowledge of a bar very few people knew about that was open all night.

Crawling his way down the cobbles, Sirius padded into an alley, where, with much effort, he transformed back into a human. He then proceeded to crawl on all fours into the bar, The Witching Hour.

The bartender looked up, skeptical at a 16 year old in his bar, but not unwilling to serve if it meant pay.

"Floo?" Sirius croaked out.

"Money?" The bartender responded gruffly.

"How much?"

"5 sickles."

"I can pay you back later." The bartender shook his head. "Look, I'm a Black! I promise! I have money! Just let me get to a friend's house and I promise you'll get your sickles." Sirius pleaded desperately, even though he technically wasn't a Black anymore.

After a long pause, the bartender nodded once. "Thank you." Sirius breathed. He crawled his way to the fireplace, almost cried out trying to reach the floo powder (the bartender made no move to help), and threw in a handful of the green sand. "The Potter home." Sirius said with as much volume as he could. He heaved his body into the fireplace and closed his eyes while trying to quench a sudden wave of nausea.

Finally, the spinning stopped. Sirius crawled forward without opening his eyes and promptly puked on the Potters' hearth rug. The coughing and retching alerted someone to his presence. Sirius looked up into frenzied hazel eyes.

"Sirius! What happened?! Are you alright? No, of course you're not! Padfoot, we gotta get you to Mungo's, Merlin.."

With his spinning head and James' chattering, Sirius couldn't help it. He heaved once more and threw up again. James scooted back from where he was kneeling beside him, but didn't flinch.

"There, mum would probably tell you to let it all out. Speaking of which, where are they? MUM! MUM! DAD! Come down here quick!"

Wanting to prevent any more vomit making its way to the floor, Sirius coughed and croaked softly, "James." His friend's attention, usually a short span, snapped immediately to him. "Shut up, mate." Sirius rasped.

"Oh. Okay. Yeah. Sorry." James said awkwardly. "Sure, whatever you need. But um, what happened?"

Sirius, recovering slowly to a sitting position, opened his mouth to tell James the whole story, and promptly burst into tears. The broken boy laid his head down on his friend's shoulder, sobbing, because it was James, and he didn't care anymore, and this summer had been the worst one yet, with the blames and favoritism and punishments and prejudice, and Sirius couldn't take it anymore!

James froze, but eventually, he slowly and awkwardly put his arms around Sirius and started rubbing his back, slowing the other's breathing until it was even and he was only slightly shaking, even though silent tears still cascaded down his face. And this was how Fleamont and Euphemia Potter found their son and his friend, hugging and tense and confused and broken and sitting next to a puddle of vomit on the hearth rug.

"Sirius? Boys?" Euphemia was the first to speak. "What-" she eyed the vomit apprehensively "-happened?"

By this time, Sirius had greatly recovered, at least emotionally, and he whirled his head around when he saw James' parents.

"Oh, um, well, you see…" he trailed off, not knowing how to explain. "Well, first, I'm sorry about your rug." He said, ducking his head in shame.

Euphemia waved him off. "Oh, don't worry about that dear, Merlin knows we have too many rugs in this house. Are you sick? What's the problem, dear?"

"Yes, I don't mean to sound rude, but Sirius, what are you doing here at this time of night?" Fleamont asked.

"Well, you see, I uh, I, I mean, recently I was, well, erm.."

But James seemed to understand. He only asked two words. "For good?" Sirius stared in amazement, but nodded. He turned back to the adults as if that communication explained everything.

Bewildered, Euphemia asked. "'For good' what, dear?" She looked between the boys knowing that either of them could provide the answer now.

"They… disowned him, mum." James said quietly. She gasped, while her husband comforted her, pity showing in his eyes. "But, uh, that wasn't all, was it, Pads?" James asked.

Sirius took a deep breath. "It was- pretty bad. I think my rib is broken."

"Well, we've got to get you to Mungo's! Let's get you through the floo. You can tell us all the details there, no need to worry…"

As Mrs. Potter chattered on, Sirius interjected, "Um, do you mind waiting to floo, Mrs. Potter? Only my stomach.." he indicated the vomit with a tilt of his head.

"Oh, of course dear, don't worry. Whatever you need-" (It was clear where James got his habit of jabbering on when no one was listening from.) "- let's bring you into the sitting room for a few, bring him some water. Nelly!" She called. A house elf appeared and was instructed to get some water and biscuits, while Fleamont levitated Sirius to the couch. Another house elf cleaned the rug with a snap of his fingers.

And as Mr. Potter provided cool support and gave warmth to Sirius' heart when he called him "son", and Mrs. Potter rattled off all of the things she'd get ready for him and insisted they pay his medical bill, and James told him small jokes that made him smile but not laugh too hard and shook with rage when Sirius broke down again and told him he full story in the hospital, Sirius realized that the family he had almost given up hoping for, the family where he wasn't a huge disappointment to be sneered at, the family he had needed and wanted so desperately all his life, was right here.

And that was how Fleamont and Euphemia Potter found their sons.


	16. I Know

**A/N: This is a little long, but I felt like this scene deserved it. This is my take on Remus and Tonks' discussion after his argument with Harry at Grimmauld Place in the Deathly Hallows. I feel like it isn't addressed enough in the fandom, and there's so much character development and emotions to be explored!**

 **Disclaimer: The underlined parts are taken directly from deathly Hallows. _These parts were written by JKR herself, not me. I don't own those pieces._**

 **This was written for The Houses Competition, Round 2. Points should go to Slytherin house.**

 **Prompt: (themed) "We need to talk about this."**

 **Word count (not including A/N): 2,534**

Remus didn't know where he was and he didn't care. The audacity! The mere suggestion! That I would ever-! How could he possibly-! He doesn't know what he's talking about; he doesn't understand! He'll never understand! Half-finished thoughts raced through Remus' head as he struggled to comprehend the argument his best friend's son had made against him. If Remus had had a mirror, he would see his eyes glowing a furious, hot amber, the exact color of the wolf's.

After stomping around for a while, Remus proceeded to take the things he had prepared for journeying with Harry, Ron, and Hermione out of his magically extended pockets and throw them at trees. When he was all out, he sat down, fuming, against a tree and stewed. With the racket he had been making, it was almost impossible that he hadn't been caught by "snatchers", the small bands of people who caught Muggleborns and any other discriminated group to take to the Ministry for profit. Remus relived the argument in his head as he decided what to do next.

"I'm pretty sure my father would have wanted to know why you aren't sticking with your own kid, actually."

He'd be ridiculed, mistreated, bullied, discriminated, have a horrible life, all because of me. And the life I have with this affliction, I've passed it on to a child, something so innocent. How can I forgive myself, when I knowingly risked passing on my own condition to an innocent child? Remus thought, determined to not let Harry's argument sway him from what was obviously the better decision for everyone. Right?

But he also remembered one thing that Harry had said the resonated with him most unpleasantly: "You want to leave Tonks at her parents' house and come with us?" Remus had confirmed that he would. "I see," he had said. "So you're just going to dump her and the kid and run off with us?"

Looking back, Remus could almost see the boy's point of view. It did look very bad on his part. But it'd be a werewolf, like me!

But you could be there for him, to help him through it! Another part of him suggested. It was his rational side, Remus realized, the part he usually let guide him. It had been nonexistent in the face of his anger. Imagine someone, your own father, could have helped you through your transformations, but didn't out of shame, and then you never got to see him because he died fighting instead of seeing his child. (For Remus did believe, no matter how many times someone told him otherwise, that he would die in the war.) Remus cringed to think about an older child, asking why their father didn't stay with their mother through pregnancy, why he didn't stay with his family. Remus almost cried out when he asked himself what if the child thought their father left it because they were a werewolf! Remus had insecurities about his condition already, but if either one of his parents had abandoned him, Merlin knew how deep his self-hate would have run before he had even gotten to Hogwarts.

"It will be like me, I am convinced of it! And if, by some miracle, it is not like me," Remus had argued, "then it will be better off, a hundred times so, without a father of who it must always be ashamed!"

"If the new regime thinks Muggleborns are bad, what will they do to a half–werewolf whose father is in the Order? My father died to protect my mother and me! I'd be more ashamed of a father who wasn't there to at least try to raise their child as a werewolf than a father who ran away from his responsibilities because he was scared of starting a family over something he couldn't control!" Harry had retaliated. "I'd never have believed this, the man who taught me to fight dementors- a coward."

It made sense, Remus thought bitterly. Harry's argument against him had more substance than anyone else's. Because that was what Remus was doing when it all boiled down, wasn't it? Running away from his responsibilities. It may not have been his fault that he was bitten, but it was his responsibility to cope with it and it was his fault that he had married Dora and got her pregnant. He laughed humorlessly as he thought of what James and Sirius would say: Remus Lupin, star student, prefect, running away from his adult responsibilities.

"I made a grave mistake in marrying Tonks. I did it against my better judgement and have regretted it very much ever since. I should never have married her."

Remus cringed again as he looked back with his widened viewpoint at what he had said. In truth, he had been trying to convince himself of his insecurities and "mistakes" further when he said that. He had regretted marrying Tonks to a certain extent, but it was only because of his condition and the shame he had put upon her because of it; he did love her, with all his heart. Of course, he did still wonder how she could ever want him….

Yes, how could she? A nasty, all-too-familiar voice whispered to him, the voice of the part of him still against going back to Tonks. You've made her an outcast! Even her own family is disgusted by your marriage, what parents want their only daughter to marry a werewolf? Why does she want to marry a werewolf? All you've done is make her life harder, and have placed discrimination and poverty on her for the rest of her life! Plus, you left her, pregnant no less and with a half-werewolf baby that she has no idea how to deal with! She won't want you back!

No! Remus battled with his narrow-minded, self-hate-fueled thoughts. Yes, I did do all those things to her and she may not want me back, but most of them were out of control! I didn't force myself on her, she happily agreed to marry me, knowing the risks and setbacks, and I can't do anything to change those. But I can at least try to go back and help raise i- the baby. And if she doesn't want me, I can at least say I tried to rectify the mistake. For Remus was now confident that leaving his wife had been a mistake; how could it not have been? How could Remus have ever thought his previous argument was justified?

And, for the first time in his life, Remus Lupin felt the sweet sensation of self-love.

With new hope, Remus repaired his things from his coat and put them away. He then finally turned around to look at the place he had apparated to. It was an awfully familiar clearing in a forest with the tallest trees with leaves that blocked out the little sunlight that filtered through during the day – he had apparated to the forbidden forest.

He was torn between laughing in relief and hitting himself. Apparating himself right next to the second-largest mass of Voldemort's followers was not something he would recommend, but at least he knew where he was. He immediately disapparated to Andromeda's house.

Once Remus was there, he quite forgot why. Didn't he have a cake in the oven at home? But something in him told him to keep moving forward; his purpose for coming was there. And then, he was on Andromeda's porch, reminding himself he had to talk to Tonks about their marriage and their baby and his terrible, terrible mistake. Shaking off the haziness of Andromeda's wards, Remus knocked on the front door more confidently than he felt. After a long pause, the door was suddenly flung open, light spilling out into the night, and a wand was at Remus' throat before he could react.

"What was the first thing my husband said to you after you married my daughter?" A demanding, unwelcoming voice asked. Remus opened his eyes from when he had flinched them closed to see Andromeda's murderous black eyes boring into his– rather like the wand boring into his neck.

Thinking quickly back to that lovely, happy, quiet night, the one bright spot in their bleak future together, where he had joined Ted Tonks for a drink after dancing with Dora. The new father-in-law had said to him, "Don't you worry about her. Once Nymphadora decides to love someone, she never turns back," he had turned to face Remus and put his hand on the werewolf's shoulder, "no matter what."

Remus repeated the memory to his mother-in-law and she took her wand away from his neck slowly, but didn't put her hand all the way down to her side.

"It's a necessary precaution. Not that I want to see you. I'd much rather you be a Death Eater so that I could still kill someone with your face." Remus flinched, having no underestimations of Andromeda's fury. "My daughter would… speak with you. But," she raised her wand again as Remus' face relaxed, "if you try anything, or upset her in any way, you will have wished Greyback's bite was a thousand times worse compared to what I'll do to you."

Remus gulped, pushing down traumatic memories, and nodded. Andromeda's face softened very slightly, and she stepped aside to let him in, whispering, almost intelligibly, "You're a good egg, Lupin."

Remus walked into the sitting room to find Tonks, with long, pin-straight, black hair, slouching on the sofa, looking, though Remus would never tell her, very delicate.

"Look what the cat dragged in." Tonks said, her voice hoarse and broken and quiet. "Finally decided you'd turn up, did you? See what I made of your departure?" she sneered nastily, very reminiscent of her mother's cold hatred. But then her face fell, and she buried her head in her hands and sobbed. Remus was at her side immediately, comforting her, or trying to. Tonks pulled away as if burned and her hair turned red. Remus stared at her, a huge lump in his throat, feeling utterly helpless as he watched his wife cry.

"I tried to find a reason, I really did. Why, why would the love of my life, a caring, gentle, sweet person who only wanted the best for anyone, leave me? Alone, in the middle of a war, pregnant, with no idea how to proceed, with no one to fight for. And, for all the excuses and justifications anyone could have made, there was only one explanation: cowardice." She spat the word like poison.

"Dora– We need to talk about this– I can explain–"

"You ran away from our marriage to go off chasing a way to defeat the darkest wizard anyone has ever known with three teenagers. And do you know what you could have had? Do you know what you threw away? A chance to be happy. To have a family that loved you unconditionally. To bring brightness into a world of darkness, and to savor life as the best we can make it while uncontrollable war rages around us. And I asked myself, why would Remus Lupin, my husband, why would he throw away that wonderful opportunity, that has been ripped from so many others already? Why wouldn't he grab it with both hands and never let go for anything? I couldn't think of anything, but do you know what you did? You made me start to doubt myself. I didn't doubt myself, or your love, your loyalty, or our marriage, until you inserted it into our relationship. You did it, not me.

"Was I not good enough? Was I flawed in some uncontrollably noticeable way? Did you not take our relationship seriously? Was a just a young, pretty girl to you who could morph her body at will to your liking?" Remus felt hot tears cascade down his face as he listened, transfixed, absorbing Tonks' words. "But, even scarier, I started to doubt you. Were the rumors about werewolves true? Did the bite change an otherwise good person in some irreversible way? Could they never be tamed, could they not love the way other humans did? I told myself, no, this is Remus, someone you know to be the sweetest, most loving person. But also a person who left you. So maybe it wasn't a problem with me, maybe it had something to do with you.

"You, who so firmly believe that no one could ever love you, when, ever since you were first bitten, you've been surrounded by relatively supportive parents considering your father was the one who spoke out against werewolves in the first place. You had a group of friends who cared for you and risked everything to make you more comfortable and more happy. You were surrounded by proof, overwhelming proof, that you were likeable, loveable even, and that you had people who cared for you despite your condition. But you still ran. Because you thought the child, the child, would suffer the same terrible condition? That I would be ridiculed? That you had made my life harder or more stressful in some way? When I had told you, begged you to understand, that I don't care. I love you despite and even because of it. I think it's so admirable how you suffer through extreme torture each month and have been since you were four, and feel no resentment, still are the same mostly happy, caring person you would have been regardless.

"And I don't know if it was because I didn't convince you enough of that, or because something about this marriage scares you, or you aren't ready to be a father, or something else, but let me tell you. I am not ready to be a mother. At least not alone. I wish I didn't, not after what you did, but I need you to be here for me and for our child. Please Remus…" she whispered the last two words and curled into a ball over her small baby bump.

Remus enveloped her in his arms and this time, she didn't resist. Tonks leaned into his chest like someone dying of thirst drinks a cold glass of water. They were both crying now, and they stayed that way curled up around each other and their baby.

"I promise, I'm staying" was the first thing out of Remus' mouth. Tonks smiled and her hair changed to a blue. "It was completely my fault. I was selfish and irrational and... I was afraid. I didn't think that you'd be able to love me if I gave you a child like me. And I know I'm wrong, but the insecurity is still there, and I promise I'll work on it. I know that I have people who love me and I don't appreciate them enough. I'm working on that too. And I realize that you need me now, and I promise, I'll always be here for you. I'm staying."

"Okay." was his response with a sleepy smile.

"I'm staying." Remus repeated, partly for himself as well.

"I know." This time Tonks looked up at him and placed a kiss on his nose. "I know that."

 ** _Fin_**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: The Neville/Hannah relationship was never really explained and was left open to interpretation, so this is my take on it. I feel like realistically, the senior members of Hogwarts leading the revolt would grow a lot closer and develop deeper relationships with each other. This was written for the forum The Houses Competition for Slytherin house as a drabble using the prompt Neville/Hannah.**

 **Word count (not including A/N): 882**

As he walked the perimeter of the room, surveying the group, Neville's feet grew heavier with each step. Everyone was broken, tired, hungry, thirsty, but most devastating of all, hopeless. For six months, the seniors of the group, Ginny, Luna (it still hurt to think about her), Ernie, Hannah, Susan, had healed the souls damaged from this hell again and again while enduring it themselves. The hell that was Hogwarts. The Carrows' Hogwarts.

The Room of Requirement kept them hidden and provided them with clothing, beds, and a false sense of security, but many children still had to go to classes, or, as it was more accurately called between the rebels, the torture pits. The House Elves were loyal only to Hogwarts' current headmaster, so they couldn't provide food or water even if they wanted to. This meant they had to sneak food from Hogsmeade. Every day, more students, of all ages, poured into the room in secret with help from older students, and Neville and the other seniors would treat their growing wounds.

They had kept up this routine since September, throughout all of the countless days and especially hard times. Neville remembered people that used to be bright, cheerful, and full of laughter being tortured; Neville remembered others, him included, taking the punishments for them and getting even more brutally punished themselves. But worse, he remembered that not only teachers administered punishments. He remembered Luna being snatched away from her family. And Neville could only sit down against the wall and bury his face in his hands.

He wouldn't cry, not in front of the younger students, to whom he was one of their only hopes. But he would mourn, for students being tortured, for Luna, for Harry and Ron and Hermione, for Ginny and her ever-growing anxiety, for himself, for everyone's freedom, but most of all, for Hogwarts.

"Are you okay?" A soft voice asked. Neville looked up sharply, already on alert for danger.

"Oh, um, hi Hannah." Neville relaxed in her presence. Hannah always exuded comfort, cheerfulness, and warmth. Neville realized that that affect hadn't diminished at all during the past months, even though her face was as gaunt as everyone else's. "I don't know. I'm just thinking about…. everything."

She nodded. "We have to be prepared." Neville nodded in agreement. "For the end of the school year, I mean."

Another nod. "I've got everything arranged with Aberforth if we need to evacuate for the summer."

"No, that's not what I mean." Neville looked at her. "I think V-voldemort's going to come at the end of this year, and one way or another, it'll all be over."

"How do you figure that? That's quite a prediction."

"Have you ever noticed that everything always builds up during the school year, and then, right before summer break, there's some kind of huge showdown between Harry and Voldemort, and then he goes back to plotting another way to get Harry killed. It's a cycle, and it's been going on ever since first year.

"There was the third floor corridor that was blocked, and what do we know, but Harry is in the hospital for days, and in second year, the corridor's reopened. Then there's the rumor about Salazar Slytherin and how Harry found Gryffindor's sword, and exams are canceled. Sirius Black was hunting him in third year, but apparently that got resolved at the end of the year. In fourth year, there was the tournament and Harry came back with Cedric's dead body and proclaimed Voldemort had returned, which we know now was true.

"Fifth year, I don't know, but Harry looked extremely hopeless and guess what else we hear? Voldemort is officially back and Sirius Black is dead. There's a connection there, I'm sure of it. Sixth year, there's a huge battle in Hogwarts and Dumbledore dies. All this happens at the end of those years."

Neville was dumbstruck. Hannah was right! It all made sense. She may have just saved Hogwarts! "You're a genius!" Neville whispered.

She blushed. "I wouldn't say-"

"You're a genius!" And without thinking, Neville kissed Hannah right on the lips.

Hannah's eyes widened and she became still. Neville finally pulled back with eyes equally as wide. "Oh my Merlin, I am so sorry! I wasn't thinking.." He stood up quickly, flabbergasted with himself. "It's just, you may have saved all of our lives, and I got excited and-" Neville stopped himself. "I'm really sorry about that. I'll just go now." Neville set off at a brisk pace to receive a convenient group of fourth years that had just entered the Room.

"Neville!" Hannah called. "Go to Hogsmeade with me?"

The question stopped Neville in his tracks, so absurd that he cracked a smile for the first time since Dumbledore's death. Hannah looked extremely sheepish as he walked back to her. "How about when school ends, okay? When this is all over, and Florean is rescued, I promise I will take you Hogsmeade and get ice cream."

"Deal." Hannah said over the giggling first years.

(Line break)

And that is why, just half an hour after the Battle of Hogwarts, two figures could be seen smiling at each other, walking and talking and laughing, actually laughing, in their euphoria, the war long forgotten in favor of each other.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Thought I'd write out this scene because I feel like the whole fandom ignores the fact that Hermione became the first woman Minister of Magic!? I mean, like of course, she's Hermione, but I think she deserves more recognition for what she did. Anywho, this story was written for the Houses Competition's round 3 as a short story using the prompt "taking a chance". Enjoy!**

 **Word count (not including A/N): 2,349**

 _Dear Mrs. Granger-Weasley,_

 _We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected into a group of individuals to be candidates for Minister of Magic! This is a big responsibility, as we are sure you are aware of, though the Wizengamot agrees that you are a suitable and promising candidate. We await your response in three weeks' time. Please note that accepting this invitation includes your writing of speeches and forming a campaign, and attending many events and debates. If you cannot fulfill and attend these requirements and functions, you will be disqualified from the running._

 _We hope you take this invitation into consideration, and look forward to seeing you as a candidate._

 _Denis Holland_

 _Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot_

 _United Kingdom Ministry of Magic_

Hermione dropped the plate she was holding and it smashed to the ground. She paid no heed as Rose started crying and Hugo fussed in his high chair. All she could do was stare, frozen at the letter she had received during breakfast in shock. She only looked up when her husband, Ron Weasley, came running into the room.

"Hermione, is everything alright? I heard a crash and the kids started crying- Merlin, you look paler than a ghost," he rambled as he waved his wand to clean the mess and shushed Rose. Then he saw the letter in Hermione's hand and the tears in her eyes.

"Hermione? Hermione? What happened? Is anyone hurt? Hermione? Talk to me!" Ron put down Rose and was by his wife's side. He placed a hand on her shoulder and gently guided her to her seat and the table, where she sat. The tears spilled over as Hermione handed the letter to her husband and waited for him to finish reading with a huge grin on her face.

Ron trailed off after reading after reading the first few sentences and stared, dumbstruck at Hermione. "Merlin."

She flew at him, gripping him in a fierce hug as her feet left the ground, sobbing in happiness into his shoulder. Ron put her down and pressed a proud kiss to her lips. He then went and picked up a kicking Rose and spun her around the kitchen, eliciting squeals of excitement from their daughter.

Hermione cried, "I can't believe it! I simply can't believe it! I'm selected to be a candidate for the Minister of Magic! How? I can't lead a country!"

"What do you mean? Hermione, you are the strongest, smartest, most powerful person I know. You have the experience, the smarts, and the nerve. I don't see why they wouldn't choose you!"

"Thank you, but what do I say? Political experience and book smarts don't make a good Minister. And besides, what about the kids? We barely have enough time to take care of them as it is and Molly sees them more than we do! We can't ask her to take care of them all the time. And you know how I feel about those daycares, so don't even suggest that…. And what about-"

"Hermione, you're getting way ahead of yourself. It's not a decision you have to make immediately, it says you have-" he referred to the letter "-three weeks. Think on it a bit. If it's something you really want, you should go for it, and we can figure something out. We always do." Ron gave her a reassuring smile and squeezed her hand.

Hermione took a few deep breaths and nodded. "You're right. You're right. I have three weeks. I have time."

The family went back to breakfast. The silence lasted for about two minutes before Hermione's gleeful shriek pierced the air.

"I got selected to be a candidate for Minister of Magic!"

.oOo.

All throughout the day, Hermione couldn't focus on anything except her invitation.

 _I can't be Minister of Magic! What if something huge happens and I can't handle it and I doom the whole country!?_

 _But I could do so much more for animal and creature rights! And I'd be the first woman Minister! I could do so much good! It sounds like so much responsibility and so much fun at the same time!_

 _Hermione, get yourself together! You have two kids! One of them isn't even a year old yet! You and your husband can barely keep it together as it is! You cannot take on any more responsibility! You cannot accept that invitation!_

And with a deep breath, Hermione resigned herself to her current position as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She'd love to have been promoted, but her family came first. Hermione nodded firmly to herself. Yes, Rose and Hugo were much more important than a promotion, even if it was to become Minister of Magic. She would write her apologies to the Chief Warlock after she finished this stack of paperwork. But even after several pep talks and cups of tea, Hermione still couldn't bring herself to write the letter that would close and lock the door to her opportunity. She decided she'd wait until tomorrow to write it, and packed up for the day. But there was still the unsettling gnawing of disappointment and rejection in the pit of her stomach.

Once her filing cabinets were in order and her desk was neatly arranged like always, Hermione left her office and said goodbye to her secretary. She then made her customary daily visit to Harry's office. Knocking on the door with the still-shiny gold plaque reading _Auror Office_ , even though she didn't need to by now, Hermione entered the department headed by her best friend, Harry Potter, waving to the people she knew.

"Hello, Felix. Is Harry here?" Hermione asked Harry's secretary.

"Actually, he left early for a family issue. That's all I know." He added, anticipating the onslaught of questions Hermione had on the top of her tongue.

Instead of pressuring him, Hermione nodded. "Thank you. Did my husband leave with him?" Felix nodded.

"Thanks again Felix. Take it easy."

He smiled. "Right back at you, Mrs. Granger."

"Granger-Weasley." Hermione muttered under her breath as she turned and walked away to the Apparition points.

As calm as she may have seemed, Hermione was bursting with questions and worries that couldn't be quelled. What had happened? Was anyone hurt? What was so urgent that Harry had to leave early? And why did Ron go with him? Hermione unconsciously walked faster and faster down the hallways as she struggled to stem the flow of doubts. People gave her a wide berth, knowing that business-savvy Hermione Granger-Weasley didn't power-walk determinedly down the halls without reason or with anyone stopping her.

Apperating home, Hermione planned to see if Ron was home, check on her children with Molly, and floo call Harry's to ask whoever was there what had happened. Digging her keys out of her extended handbag, she flew the door open and found the house eerily dark. The air seems to hold its breath as Hermione hesitantly turned on the lights. Nevertheless, it was still a shock when almost all of the extended Weasley family jumped out and shouted "CONGRATULATIONS!!!"

"You made the list for Minister of Magic! Why didn't you tell us?" Ginny screeched in her ear as she pinned Hermione against the door with the force of her hug.

"I only got the letter this morning," Hermione choked out as family surrounded her. Ron and Harry were grinning as they both hugged her and Ron pressed a kiss to her cheek.

"Did you have anything to with this?" Hermione asked her husband nervously.

"I may have been a proud husband and told a few people." He smiled, only a little sheepish. "Do you like it?"

"Yeah, about this, I need to talk to you in _private_ ," Hermione whispered, but her words were lost to her husband as Molly Weasley came over an enveloped her in one of her famous bear hugs.

"Look at you, all grown up and about to be the first woman Minister ever! I'm so proud of you!" She sobbed.

Hermione smiled guiltily. "I haven't even accepted yet Molly." But Molly either didn't hear or didn't care.

Then Bill and Fleur and George and Angelina were hugging and congratulating her and Percy was shaking her hand and the atmosphere was so cheerful, Hermione had to let herself go along for a little while.

An hour and a half later, after everyone had been fed one of Molly's spectacular meals complete with a decadent chocolate cake, the adults and younger kids were in the kitchen talking and laughing ("I knew Kingsley was retiring, but I didn't know it would happen so soon!"; "This is so exciting! We haven't had a proper election in years!"; "Well, it's no surprise Hermione was chosen, I'd be more surprised if she hadn't been.") while the older children were in the yard playing a game led by Teddy Lupin. Hermione took the opportunity to pull her husband aside and tell him then bad news.

"Ron, can I talk to you for a minute in the sitting room, please?" Hermione intruded on his and Audrey's conversation.

"Sure, 'Mione. Excuse me, Audrey, I have a meeting with the Minister." Ron winked at Hermione while she pulled him away apologetically.

"What did you need to talk about?"

"I appreciate all this, Ron, I really do, but it's not necessary."

"What- Hermione, of course it was necessary! This is a huge deal for you and you deserve something special!"

Hermione took a breath, now even more loath to disappoint Ron, who was being so sweet and supportive. "No, Ron, it's not necessary because I'm not taking the job." There. She had said it.

He stared at her for the second time that day. "What? Why?"

"I can't be Minister Ron; think realistically! I'm not ready to be or capable of being the leader of an entire country! I'd be the downfall of Wizarding Britain! We have two kids and we barely see them enough as it is! Our family will fall apart and we'll be those parents who work all the time and never see each other or our kids! I'm a woman, for Merlin's sake!" Hermione cried, and buried her face in her hands. "I can't do it."

Ron wrapped his wife in a hug, nestling her head under his chin and muttering soothing whispers to her as she whimpered into his chest. After her breathing evened out slightly, Ron asked, "Hermione?" No response. "Hermione, love? Can you look at me?"

Slowly, Hermione's blotchy face was raised to look at Ron's.

"Our family is not going to fall apart. And I never want to hear you out yourself down because of your gender again. Do you understand?" She nodded hesitantly. "I don't care what anyone says about you, you are a strong, capable woman and you always will be. And for what it's worth, I think you'd be an excellent Minister, the best we've seen in a while. Realistically, you most certainly will not be the downfall of Wizarding Britain.

"As for our kids, I think I have a solution. Please hear me out before you object." He said quickly as he saw his wife's mouth open to protest. "I've been thinking about where I want to go and where I want my career to be in the future, too. And I've realized, I don't want to be an Auror for the rest of my life. I don't like the paperwork and the constant training and the danger whenever I'm doing the only exciting part of my job, which is in the field. I've been visiting and helping out at George's shop more often, and it's something I really enjoy." Ron could pinpoint the exact moment when Hermione understood what he was implying and her eyes widened. "I'd have more flexible hours and be able to look after the kids way more. I could even take the kids to work with me in a pinch. And that would give you the ability to become the Minister of Magic."

"I didn't know you didn't like your job." Hermione whispered.

"I don't dislike it, but I do tolerate it."

"You'd give up your job for me?"

"Hermione, of course I would. I want you to be happy, and if being Minister makes you happy, I'm going to do everything I can to make sure that you become Minister. It'd also be good for me and the kids too, so it's a win for everyone, really. But it is your choice. If you don't feel like you can handle it, I'm not going to pressure you. But if you truly want it, you should go for it."

"Thank you." Hermione hugged him fiercely.

"Of course. So, what do you say?"

"I do want this position, I really do, but I'm so scared I'll screw everything up for everybody!"

"Hermione, I've told you many times, and I'll keep telling you until you believe it: you are not going to screw this up. You are a responsible, level-headed, compassionate woman who would be perfect for the job and you'd do this country a lot of good. You can do this, and you can do it well." Ron noted the stubborn doubt still in Hermione's eyes. "Look, you can't let fear keep you from living life the way you'd like or keep you from doing the things you love. Sometimes, you have to take a chance, and take the chance knowing that things could go wrong, but you're going to do it anyway because you won't have the chance to be happy if you don't at least try."

Hermione smiled. "Ronald Weasley, when did get so wise?" she asked as she laid her arms on top of his shoulders.

"I've known my wife for most of my life; it must have rubbed off on me." Ron smiled back.

"I love you." Hermione told him.

"I love you too." Ron said before stealing a kiss. "So… about that promotion…. what do you say?"

"I say…." Hermione bit her lip. "We should start painting some campaign posters."


	19. Cakes and Punishment

**A/N: This story was written for the Houses Competition's round 3 as a themed story using the prompt "house elf". Enjoy!**

 **Word count (not including A/N): 737**

Dobby is bringing the tea and cakes to Master's dining room. But not the normal dining room. Dobby is bringing the tray to the fancy one, the one that Master and Miss and sometimes Young Master too, used for extra important guests that Dobby "better not disturb with one squeak or else you're getting a flogging so great that that ratty pillow case will feel like 30 pounds of diamonds, elf!"

Dobby must tread carefully the days before these dinners, or else Miss will snap with extra mean words and maybe even hit Dobby, even though Master usually does the punishments with his cane or orders Dobby to iron his ears or shut his hands in the oven. But Master and Miss never touched Dobby with their bare hands because, according to Master, Dobby "was such a disgusting creature I couldn't bear the thought of ever coming near to touching it."

This dinner was with the Minister of Magic, someone Dobby's Master describes as "an obese, blubbering idiot of a Minister, but at least he's easy to manipulate." Master and Miss never say such things in front of the Minister himself, and Dobby, of course, keeps quiet out of obedience. Even if the Minister is a bit less sharp than shrewd Master, Dobby still thinks that he seems a lot nicer than Master and Miss ever are to him. Over the years, Dobby has taken note of how Master treats humans and how he treats Dobby. Even if he is fake, Master is always treating humans with kindness. Sometimes Master deals in Dark Magic and says unkind things about people, but only to "blood-traitors" such as Wheezeys. But Dobby also notices that Master treats all House Elves like Dobby (that is to say with harsh and painful punishments and sharp, demeaning words), and does not give out special treatment, even if we does right.

But it seems that Dobby is the only one who notices this. Dobby would not be be nearly so lonely if the other House Elves saw what he does. Any time Dobby tries to tell them his observations, they is covering their ears and making lots of noise, sometimes even crying, scolding Dobby for speaking so ill of their Master. Dobby's fellows insist that their Master treats them better and with more kindness than he should. And, like good Elves, they tell Master of Dobby's observations and Dobby has to sit in the oven until he passes out- and then clean the oven of his "stench".

But Dobby still notices that none of Dobby's peers are happy. They is always scurrying around to meet Master's needs on time so that they isn't facing any punishments, always working without rest to serve, serve, serve.

Dobby knows and understands the misery of this life, of living under their Master. He wants to escape this life. He believes that everybody else knows of their Master's nature and wants to escape too. But what Dobby doesn't understand is that nobody else wants to talk about escape. Nobody will admit that their Master is a Dark, bad, mean wizard, and they won't admit that escaping will make them happy. Do they not know? Dobby wonders. Coming to the conclusion that this is the only rational explanation Dobby tries to tell the other House Elves of the happiness of freedom. By then they tell Master what Dobby has said, and Dobby is unspeakably punished. Dobby stops speaking to the other House Elves, but he doesn't stop dreaming.

"Hurry up, elf!" Master's voice barks, cutting through the marble halls and startling Dobby into a jog to deliver his Master's tea.

"Dobby is terribly sorry, Master, and Minister! It won't happen again!" Dobby apologized profusely as he climbed a step stool to reach the table and set down the tray.

"Good." Master snarled, kicking Dobby on his way down from the step stool so that Dobby fell onto his face and smashed his nose painfully on the stone.

It was in that moment, with his face mashed into the floor, his leg burning from Master's kick, Master pardoning his Elf's rudeness- ("Honestly, it's outrageously difficult to find good service these days! Pardon my servant's tardiness Minister; there's always one finicky one in the bunch."; "Quite right, Mister Malfoy, quite unfortunate. Now, about that donation…")

-It was in this moment that Dobby knew: he would find an escape, no matter the punishment.


	20. Realization

**A/N: This is kind of a Peter Pettigrew sympathy story... *Dodges fruit* i know he betrayed James and Lily, but I always felt a little story for at least Hogwarts!Peter because he was pretty shunned as a kid. But still, you don't inadvertently kill your best friends for it– jeez... Anywho, this story was written for the Houses Competition's round 3 as a themed story using the prompt "anger". Enjoy!**

 **Word count (not including A/N): 2,702**

 **Realization**

"I present the five newest members of the Order of the Phoenix: James Potter–"

Loud applause from current Order members followed Dumbledore's announcement. James Potter proudly stepped forward to bring more attention to himself and smile and wave at the group.

"–Sirius Potter–"

More applause as the former-Black stepped forward like his brother and winked at the crowd.

"–Lily Evans–"

James' fiancé came forward with a small smile and graciously received the applause.

"–Remus Lupin–"

The lanky, tired werewolf barely stepped forward as the volume dipped down slightly, but people clapped politely nonetheless. That is, until James and Lily pushed Remus forward to be in the spotlight as Sirius wolf-whistled; then the gang laughed good-naturedly.

"–and, last, but not least, Peter Pettigrew."

More clapping, but it wasn't as enthusiastic as it had been for the others. But Peter still smiled, used to being in the shadows. His friends more than made up for it with their head-turning cheers.

"Let's have one more round of applause for three five of them together." Dumbledore finished, joining in the loud hurrahs this time. Peter had mixed emotions as he stepped forward with his friends to receive their now-fellow members of the Order of the Phoenix. James and Sirius looked the happiest they had been in a while as they revelled in the glory of their Hogwarts dreams.

But that was the whole point of his feelings, wasn't it? It was their dream to join the Order, their dream to be active in and join the fight against Voldemort. This was their passion, not Peter's. Peter had relented for two reasons, one of them being: this was what he was used to doing, what he had done for years.

Ever since he was 11, Peter and Remus had always been the quiet ones, the side-kicks, the other two, the followers. But even so, Remus was more prominent in their group and more recognized than Peter, him being a werewolf.

Whenever James or Sirius had an idea, it would most certainly be dangerous, adventurous and bold. Peter was not any of those things. Peter was scared, reserved, and took the cautious route. But James and Sirius would always convince him that it would be safe, they'd get a huge laugh, they wouldn't get in trouble, and he needed more fun, more excitement in his life, and Peter would inevitably come to believe them. Peter would always believe them. He never had any ideas of his own, and Remus only contributed slightly, so most of the time, the Marauders, and later Lily, followed James and Sirius' agenda. And he never objected. Because that's who Peter was: a follower, a scared, reserved follower who let others dictate his life.

That's why he had joined the Order. He almost didn't. Muggleborns' rights didn't concern him, or any of them. He wasn't particularly against Muggleborns, he just didn't want to get into anything that he didn't have to if it was dangerous or threatening. But then Lily entered the picture.

Everyone loved Lily. She was smart, funny, witty, and was the only person they'd found who could match their skill in mischief and pranks. But she also happened to be a Muggleborn. A very loud and proud Muggleborn. And that meant involving all of her friends in her fight for justice. The other boys supported her whole-heartedly and without hesitation, never considering what might happen to themselves in consequence to helping her. Peter considered it though.

And this is what led him to come to the realization that he didn't want this kind of life, that he didn't want to fight against something all the time, that he didn't want to follow two teenagers everywhere any more. But the realization came right as he was inducted into the Order of the Phoenix; right at the moment his escape became untouchable.

(Line break)

Over the weeks, Peter slowly realized what had been in the back of his mind since his realization: anger. And Peter realized he was angry and had been for a while; angry with himself for letting himself be dragged around and manipulated and ignored. But mostly angry with James and Sirius and Remus and Lily for ignoring him, for never asking his serious opinion or letting him do what he wanted for a change. Angry because they pretended they cared about him as much as they did each other.

But it was hard to stay consciously angry at his friends when they came back from missions bruised and broken, new scars joining their bodies every day. Then Remus went undercover to see how other werewolves were being influenced on Dumbledore's orders. The four remaining Marauders treated it as his death; Lily and Sirius were crying and Peter almost cried. But his sadness was replaced by anger, this time towards Dumbledore.

Peter saw now that he manipulated people the same way Peter had been by James and Sirius in school, but on a much larger scale; promising people safety, prosperity and a better world without the threat of Voldemort, things he couldn't provide with certainty.

As Dumbledore's missions became more dangerous and more deadly, Peter's anger festered and grew. But what Peter didn't know was that anger left unattended becomes dangerous. Thus, the formation of his Plan.

(Line break)

8 months later

"Are you sure you don't want to stay? We're all tired, Peter; it'd be no trouble."

"No, no, I can't. I have a uh, mission for Dumbledore." Peter waved off Lily's hospitality nervously.

"Another one?" James asked, entering the room with Harry in his arms. "He's working you awfully hard. We never see you anymore, Pete. And we're gonna be locked up in this cottage forever…"

"James, you know Dumbledore wouldn't send Peter away without good reason." Lily chastised her husband.

"I know…"

"But do be careful Peter. Contact us if you need anything. Are we allowed know what you're doing or.."

"Unfortunately not. It has to be a secret, he said. Don't worry about me; I'll be fine. Visit you when I get back." Peter hugged his friends goodbye and set off.

His plan was finally advancing after three months. His plan to be noticed and take control. His plan to join the Dark Lord.

After much self-deliberation, Peter had contacted Evan Rosier, a former schoolmate who had been placed in Slytherin and was a Death Eater that was on the Ministry's ever-growing list of Death Eaters at large. After conversing secretly in Borgin and Burke's in Knockturn Alley, Peter had convinced Rosier to get him a meeting with someone as high in the ranks as possible, possibly even Voldemort himself if he could manage it. Reluctantly, Rosier had gotten Peter a meeting with Bellatrix Lestrange, Voldemort's right hand and Sirius' insane Death Eater cousin. The meeting hadn't been pleasant by any means, but she had found Peter "worthy" of following the Dark Lord, and had gotten him cleared by Voldemort. Peter was to be inducted into the group today and receive his Dark Mark. This would be his first time in the presence of the infamous Voldemort, the darkest wizard who ever lived. Peter's hands secretly shook under his cloak as he left the Potter cottage.

The wedding had been small, but very cheerful, with Sirius as best man (obviously), hosted in the now-warded Hog's Head, where Dumbledore's brother Aberforth worked. Dumbledore himself hadn't been able to come, being on "crucial business for the Order", by that might have been for the best; he and Aberforth weren't on good terms and Dumbledore could have probably seen right through Peter's plan.

It had been recently discovered that there was a prophecy that put Lily, James, and their baby in danger. This resulted in Dumbledore recommending that they go into hiding. Heeding his warning, Lily and James had recently moved into a small cottage in Godric's Hollow, protected by the Fidelius charm. Sirius was the secret keeper (of course), and only a select few knew where they were. Peter was, fortunately for him, still included in that group. But he didn't know just how valuable that closeness and trust would be for him until about a month later, when his loyalty was tested far beyond anything Voldemort would do to him.

(Line break)

4 months later

"I want you to tell me where the Potters live. I know you're close, so don't try denying your knowledge."

"My Lord, I know where they live, but alas, I cannot tell you." At the literally murderous look on the half-man's face, Peter stumbled over his words to explain himself. "I am not the secret keeper. Sirius Black is. There is no use torturing me; it wouldn't work."

"I know, fool," he spat. "I don't care whether you're the secret keeper or not; tell me where they are. Catch Black and torture him, torture the Potters, I don't care." Many people started to object, but a glare silenced them immediately. The Dark Lord turned his attention back to Peter. "Lord Voldemort is merciful. I am giving you six weeks. Get me the Potters' address or face the consequences."

"Peter!" A familiar voice snapped the Death Eater out of his reverie. Peter glanced at the fireplace and did a double take at the face in the green flames.

"Sirius!" Peter cried. He hadn't seen his friend since the wedding. "What are you doing? Where are you? Is anyone hurt?"

"I can't say here, but I need you to come to Lily and James' house as soon as you can. No one's in immediate danger, but it's urgent."

"Will do." Peter promised, and Sirius vanished with a nod.

Peter apparated to Godric's Hollow and walked briskly through the cool night air towards the cottage. He hoped the Dark Lord wouldn't call while he was at their house; he'd have to ignore the pain and the urge to disapparate and face the punishment later.

Opening the door, Peter jerked his head back from the wand at his throat.

"What was the first thing I ever said to you?" James demanded.

"Uh…" Peter struggled to remember. "'That's my bunk, b****'?"

Jams grinned. "Come on in, Pete."

Peter sighed with relief and followed him into the small, but homey cottage. He saw Sirius lounging in the couch in the living room. Just then, Lily came downstairs. "I've just gotten Harry to sleep; be quiet."

James smiled at his wife and pulled her in for a kiss. Sirius coughed when it lasted longer than he and Peter expected and they pulled away, rolling their eyes.

"So, what did you guys need?" Peter asked nervously.

"Right." Sirius got up and the four of them stood in a close circle in the middle of the living room. "I've had the sudden realization that we have been jeopardizing your" -he looked at James and Lily- "safety; we've been doing this all wrong. Me being secret keeper- that's too obvious. Anyone could guess that James' best mate would be the secret keeper. Anyone could torture the secret out of me. Don't look like that; you know it's true." He told the couple when he saw both of their pained looks at the thought of him being tortured. "So, I thought we should be more discreet. So Peter, that's where you come in." They waited for Peter to understand what they were implying.

"Me? Are-are you sure?"

"We've talked about it, and we think it's the best for everybody." Lily told him.

But Peter wasn't really listening. He couldn't believe he was so lucky! He could become the secret keeper and then he'd be able to give the Dark Lord the address! He'd be safe!

But do you really want Lily and James dead? A small, noble part of him asked. They've done nothing against you.

But if I don't, I'll be killed instead. And they weren't exactly kind to you either. Sirius even just called himself James' best mate. Remember all the times they ignored you, where you had to do something you didn't want to, where you suffered and got in trouble for them, when you were powerless? They deserve some punishment. Besides, the Dark Lord never said he'd kill them.

"Peter?" Lily asked. "Peter? Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine. I'll do it."

(Line break)

I can't tell him. I can't betray them.

You can't die.

I can't tell him. I can't betray them.

You can't die.

Peter battled with himself as he walked up the steep steps to Bellatrix's house. He had been made secret keeper. It would be so easy to betray his friends' trust, but he was having second thoughts. He had to make a decision today; it was the deadline for the six weeks the Dark Lord had given him. Peter entered the house.

"You're late." Peter heard the Dark Lord's chilling, high voice before he saw him. Then the mutant stepped ominously into the faint light.

"Apologies, my Lord." Peter bowed.

"Nevertheless, you have information for me- I hope."

"Yes, my Lord."

I need to escape. I can't do this. He's asking too much of me. I can't do it.

You will. Not. Die. Just tell him the address. It's that simple. And then you'll be able to live.

"Well?"

"They live at 59 Merryweather Street, Godric's Hollow, my Lord."

"Excellent."

(Line break)

November 1, 1981

Harry Potter Defeats Voldemort 

Lily and James Potter Found Dead

Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew Missing

Peter glanced at the headlines and scurried away from the real rats that he shared the sewer with.

After the Dark Lord had left to the Potters', Peter had disapparated and fled, knowing that people would come after him. He didn't understand how Harry could have defeated the Dark Lord, but he had other matters to worry about.

With Sirius "missing", he had no doubt that the Animagus was actually hunting him. Peter needed to move.

Crawling out of the sewer, Peter crawled into an alley and transformed back into a human. He peeks around the corner of one of the building he was between, and then looked behind him one last time. The silhouette almost scared him out of his wits.

"Sneaking about, rat?" Sirius asked him ominously, apparating right in front of Peter and grabbing his arm so he couldn't escape. "Thinking of abandoning the country the same way you did your friends?"

"Sirius…" Peter started, knowing he couldn't outrun him or win a duel against him.

"Don't start with me," he spat. "I don't want to hear you defend yourself. You don't deserve to talk.

"I hope you're proud of yourself. We trusted you, they trusted you. And you decided to blab; for what?"

"You don't understand." Peter said in a small voice. "He was going to kill me."

"Was he? I wish he had succeeded! But then I guess I wouldn't get the opportunity to do it myself." Sirius threatened as he took several steps forward, making Peter move backwards into the street.

"What would you have done?" Peter pleaded. I need to escape. I need to get out of here. I've worked too hard to die now.

"What would I have done?" Sirius said stonily, deathly quiet. "What would I have down, Peter? Are you that daft? How about I never would've joined him in the first place! How about tell someone- one of us, Dumbledore- you needed help! How about die for my friends! Because I would die, like you ought to, for them!" Sirius was shouting now, his face purple.

He plunged his hand into his robes and pulled out his wand. Peter shakily took his out as well. You need to get it of here. You need to escape. He heard Muggle sirens in the distance; one of the many Muggles watching them must have alerted the authorities.

"And now, you'll pay." Sirius opened his mouth to cast the spell, but Peter didn't hear it or see the jet of deadly green light fly over his head as he ducked. Peter's accidental magic had set off a huge explosion, sending chunks of asphalt in all directions. Slightly fazed, Peter took his opportunity and worked quickly; casting a severing charm on his finger, he disapparated to his mother's house, seen by no one through the smoke.


	21. For Luna

**A/N: This story was written for the Houses Competition's bonus round #2. Warning: character death and maybe tears. Enjoy!**

 **House: Slytherin**

 **Theme: Pre-Hogwarts**

 **Prompt From List #1: Sometimes doing the right thing is the hardest**

 **Prompt From List #2: Now hit with this illness/disease, they'd never be the same again.**

 **Word count (not including A/N): 1,325**

 **For Luna**

"And what are these, Mummy?"

"These are angel's trumpet. They're very rare, and we're very lucky to have them in our meadow. They also have amazing medicinal properties if you pick them at the right time."

"When is that?"

"At the full moon, of course."

"Like me." The five year old pointed her thumb at her chest proudly.

"Yes, Luna, exactly like you."

Unbeknownst to the woman and girl, Xenophilius Lovegood watched his wife and daughter from their porch with a fond smile on his face.

* * *

It was this memory that would save them. Pandora and Luna were in critical condition, barely able to talk or move. The Healers Xenophilius had called either only worked from St. Mungo's or were too inexperienced, too dim-witted, for the kind of intensive care his wife and child required.

Dragon pox wasn't even that uncommon, but even Xenophilius had never seen the disease this severe. If they went the way they were going – that is with no treatment – he would surely lose his family. No one could help him; Xenophilius was all alone and powerless.

He had resigned himself to the misery of waiting. And with waiting came thoughts, and thoughts led to memories. Memories of a snowy wedding, and prayers being answered in the form of a beautiful baby girl born in the dead of night on a full moon. Memories of sunny days spent picnicking in meadows, of rainy days spent splashing in puddles. Memories of foggy days spent hunting animals that no one except his little Luna had ever seen, memories of living life and loving it. And a memory of a flower that gave Xenophilius his first hope.

His body animated by the fortune that angel's trumpet could herald like, well, like an angel's trumpet, Xenophilius grabbed his coat and ran out to the meadow. It was the dead of night, much like the night that Luna was born on – a good sign, Xenophilius noted, struggling to remember everything he knew about the now precious flower. He glanced up and the sigh of a bright, full moon elated him, making his footsteps quicken.

Falling onto the dewy grass in the general area he remembered his wife in just months ago, Xenophilius searched frantically with his hands for a flower, a petal. It was a pure miracle that he found one in the darkness, the last of the pale yellow buds in the meadow. Clutching the blossom like a lifeline (for it very well might be one), Xenophilius sprinted back to the house, his blonde hair whipping in the chilly night wind.

Once inside, he tore open his mother's potion book, searching for the herbal dragon pox cure that had been passed down in his family for generations. Finally, he landed on the right page. Scanning and memorizing the ingredients list, Xenophilius wildly raided his own cupboards, knocking things into his arms and spilling them onto the kitchen counter. He grabbed his wand and shot a spray of water into the cauldron, lighting a fire under it after it filled. Hastily charming knives to chop roots and skins, Xenophilius had to duck to avoid being stabbed.

Brewing the potion took four hours, and simmered for three out of the four, resulting in a thick, smooth, blue concoction. But it only filled a two-ounce bottle, enough for one dose. I'll just have to split it between them and hope it works, Xenophilius thought.

Bringing the vial carefully up the stairs of the deathly quiet house, Xenophilius realized how much noise he'd been making as he brewed.

Sure enough, when he entered the bedroom the patients inhabited, his wife's silver eyes were open, looking at the ceiling that she had painted when they were first married. It was a picture of the meadow that had come with the property, and nothing made Pandora Lovegood more content than lying with her daughter on her bed and staring at the ceiling.

"I've got something for you," Xenophilius announced quietly. Pandora's eyes darted to his and then to the bottle in his hand.

"You've.. made… an antidote?" she breathed.

"It's a recipe that's been passed down in the Lovegood family for generations. It's the best cure I know, made with angel's trumpet."

"That's amazing," Pandora breathed, and for a moment, Xenophilius could imagine that they were sitting in the meadow that was painted on the ceiling, and he had just showed Pandora a new specimen of some kind of plant, and her eyes lit up with fascinated interest and curiosity that Xenophilius hadn't seen in anyone to date.

"I could only make one dose, but I will split it in two and give it to you both, and then you'll be better."

"Xeno," Pandora said sadly. "You and I both know that one dose will not work for two people."

"I have to try," he pleaded. "I'm desperate, Pandora. I can't lose you both, and I won't choose. There's no changing my mind."

"You are very kind… but very foolish," his wife managed. "See sense, Xeno. If you split the dose, both me and Luna will die and your medicine will have been useless. But if you give it to Luna-"

"I won't leave you-"

"-you can save her. She can live a full, happy life like she is supposed to. She's young. It's not her time."

"I can't lose you, Pandora. I can't."

"I won't drink it."

"Pandora, please…"

"I won't drink that potion knowing that I would be taking my own daughter's life! I'd never forgive myself, or you. You can't ask that of me, Xeno. It has to be her."

"There had to be another way-"

"There isn't, Xeno. I wish there was. But let me go knowing that I'll be watching you and Luna, and I'll get to see her grow up. It's the right thing to do."

"Then I can't do the right thing! I'm selfish, Pandora. I need both of you here, with me. There is no one or the other, only both of you. I have to split the potion."

Pandora seized her husband's arm. "I know it's hard. I know it won't be easy to let me go. But the sickness has almost finished me. You have to do it. For Luna."

Xenophilius Lovegood looked at his wife, pale and fragile, so close to death, yet willing to sacrifice herself for her daughter without question. Then he looked at his daughter. His Luna. The brightest light in his life aside from Pandora. She was so small, curled into her mother's side, sweaty, feverish and shivering. Xenophilius looked at his daughter and knew, felt, that his wife was right. He couldn't let his daughter die so young, with so much to live for.

Pandora's grip on Xenophilius' arm loosened as she saw the dread in his eyes. "You can do it, Xeno. I'm still here. I'll watch over you. Be strong. For Luna."

Xenophilius gently opened his daughter's mouth and tilted the neck of the bottle towards it. He made eye contact with his wife one more time. "Goodbye, Pandora," Xenophilius Lovegood whispered as a lone tear traveled down his cheek. And he poured the potion down Luna's throat.

"Goodbye, Xenophilius." Pandora Lovegood whispered, and closed her eyes. Her chest stilled.

"Pandora?" Xenophilius whispered. He waited. "Pandora? Pandora? Pandora! No!"

He shook her shoulders. He called for her. He shouted. Nothing. Pandora Lovegood's time on earth had expired.

A coughing noise brought Xenophilius' attention away from his wife. Luna spluttered until she could breathe, then sat up.

"Daddy?" she asked weakly. Her father was shaking, his head on her mother's chest. She could hear whispers.

"Pandora, please. Come back. Come back to me."

"Daddy? Why are you sad?" she asked.

"Luna." Xenophilius looked up. "You're awake."

"What happened to Mummy? Why are you crying?"

Her father didn't answer, but instead said, "It was all for you. I promise. I'm so sorry."


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: This story was written for the Houses Competition round 4. Pure fluff. Enjoy!**

 **House: Slytherin**

 **Prompt: whiteboard**

 **Word count (not including A/N): 1,213**

"And - believe this - on the whiteboard…"

Whiteboard? What's a whiteboard? Lily thought. At Hogwarts, they only used blackboards. Why would Muggles need whiteboards?

"What's a whiteboard?" Lily blurted. Petunia glared at her for interrupting, but then her eyes widened at her sister's question. The older girl began to laugh hysterically.

"You - you - don't know - what - a - a whiteboard is - hahahaha! I can't!" she wheezed. Finally, Petunia regained her bearings and took notice of the three other members of her family staring at her. She cracked another smile aimed at her parents. "You guys can't think this isn't funny." The blank stares continued. Petunia finally looked embarrassed, which came out as anger.

"Well, how stupid are you; don't even know what a whiteboard is," she snarled at Lily.

"Petunia," their father warned. "None of that at the dinner table."

"Well, they don't have whiteboards at Hogwarts," Lily tried to defend herself as Petunia hissed at the name of Lily's wizarding school. "We have blackboards."

"Why don't you tell her what they are dear, instead of insulting her for not knowing. Their culture is different than ours," Mrs. Evans suggested to her older daughter.

"I won't tell her anything if she's too stupid to know," Petunia refused stubbornly. She got up and left the table, storming up the stairs loudly to her room, her good mood from her parents finally listening to her about her school ruined.

Mrs Evans pursed her lips worriedly and Mr. Evans tsk-ed disapprovingly. After a long pause of awkward silence, Mrs. Evans told Lily, "A whiteboard is a white sheet of plastic that teachers use to write on with markers. It's become more popular recently because markers last longer than chalk."

"I see." Another pause. "Well, thanks for dinner, mum. I'd better pack now. School begins again tomorrow." Lily's chair made a horrible scraping sound, amplified by more awkward silence, as Lily made her way upstairs as well.

"Of course. Any time, darling," her mother answered sadly.

"They'll come around." Mr. Evans patted his wife's arm soothingly.

* * *

"Hey, Remus!"

"Hi Lily! Good summer?"

"Not really. My sister still hates me."

"Mmm."

"How were the full moons this summer?" Lily asked, leaning in to whisper "full moons".

"Alright. Not as long as the one last spring."

"That's good."

"You wanna come and sit with us in our compartment? I think James still has some snacks."

"Sure."

The two lugged their trunks through the train's hallways and shoved them in the "Marauders'" compartment, the one the four had sat in every year since they had started school. Once they were inside, James got up to help Lily with her trunk, not as hastily as he would have done on fourth year, but still resulting in eye-rolling from Remus and smirking from Sirius.

The five chattered away, talking about their summers, their NEWT courses, and got into a brief debate about the current Minister, Barty Crouch. He ruled with an iron fist, which Sirius and James supported, while Peter and Lily both thought that more people that had been recently convicted deserved trials.

As they were running out of topics to talk about, Lily decided to tell the story that Petunia had started the night before. Her friends were extremely stupid and liked to make trouble - much like the Marauders, except now Lily knew that they were much nicer than they appeared, while Petunia's friends were as nasty, if not more so, than they portrayed themselves - which resulted in a lot of funny mishaps that Petunia rarely shared with Lily.

"-and then they wrote something on the whiteboard, and then, um, Petunia… didn't get to finish the story," Lily finished lamely. Any other time, she knew the boys would have teased her for finishing so stupidly, but their attention was drawn by the same thing that had grabbed Lily's yesterday.

"What's a whiteboard?" James and Peter asked at the same time.

"I asked the same thing," Lily told them. "I don't really know, but my mum told me that it was white plastic that Muggles use to write on."

"They don't use chalkboards?" Sirius asked. Lily shrugged.

"But in Muggle Studies, we learned that wizards got the chalkboard from Muggles," Peter argued.

"I don't know, I guess markers last longer."

"What are markers?"

* * *

A few days later, Lily was waiting outside the library for Remus so that they could work on their Transfiguration essay. She saw him - but he was being tailed by Sirius.

"Hi Remus." Lily raised an eyebrow. "Black."

"Not anymore, flower."

"Right, sorry. And don't call me flower." He winked. Lily scowled. "What are you doing here anyway? Last time someone mentioned the library you stopped the whole History of Magic corridor with your screeching of 'Please stop! Not that terrible word! My poor heart! I can't take it!'" Lily clutched her chest and out the back of her hand to her forehead while she leaned back dramatically, imitating Sirius. Remus smirked. Sirius gasped.

"I've never been so offended in my life! Lily, you must not wound me this way! Moony, shield me!" Sirius grabbed the lycanthrope's arm and pulled him between Lily and himself.

"What do you want?" Lily asked again.

"To know if chalk works on whiteboards."

"What?"

"To know if chalk works on whiteboards," Sirius repeated.

"Why?"

"Can't a guy be interested in whiteboards?"

"You're planning something aren't you? You and Potter."

"Me? Planning something? Lily Flower, are you sure you're well? Why would you ever think I'd be planning something? When have I ever done anything-"

"That's enough Black - no - you know what I mean! No, they don't; now if you'll excuse me, I have to study. Are you coming, Remus?" And Lily stalked into the library.

With a cheerful "Thank you, Lily Flower! See you, Moony!", Sirius skipped to Gryffindor tower with a big grin on his face. Remus rolled his eyes and hurried off after Lily.

"You know you just gave him what he wanted, right?" Remus asked Lily with a snarky smile.

"I know," she grouched. "He's just too much, and it gets under my skin. I don't know how you put up with him."

"Practice." Remus shrugged.

"Anyway," - Lily slammed her books onto a table, causing Madam Pince to glare at them - "about the fifth law of Merlin.."

* * *

Two days later, Lily walked into Transfiguration feeling confident about her essay, completely forgetting about Sirius and his abnormal questions about whiteboards. Laying her parchment onto McGonagall's desk, Lily went to her usual seat and slung her bag off her shoulder, hanging it on the back of the chair and slouching into her seat to wait for everyone else. The Marauders traipsed in loudly at the last minute, effectively drawing attention to themselves like they always did. All four handed in essays, Lily noted as they clamored to their respective seats. McGonagall pursed her lips as they settled down.

Lily then saw James and Sirius exchange a look. James waved his wand in a complicated pattern and, to her and the rest of the class' astonishment, the blackboard transformed into a sleek, shiny whiteboard with an eraser - but no markers.

This was promising to be an interesting lesson.


	23. Security

**A/N: This story was written for the Houses Competition round 4. Warning: You will need tissues. Enjoy!**

 **House: Slytherin**

 **Category: Themed**

 **Theme: security**

 **Prompt: Bellatrix**

 **Word count (not including A/N): 2,277**

 **Security**

They were safe. Finally. Security. Alice breathed in deeply, savoring the rather unchanged air. She glanced back at the Daily Prophet one last time to make sure it wasn't all a dream. Yes, the headline was still there: **He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Defeated; Wizarding World Safe at Last!** Alice finally allowed herself to break into the biggest grin. Her first smile since– since– as long as she could remember. Had it really been that long since she and Frank gone into hiding?

"Frank." Alice walked back to their bed from the window where the delivery owl had landed and whispered her husband's name urgently. "Frank! Look at the Prophet! We're safe! Frank!"

"E'rythin' alright?" Frank sat up quickly, albeit sleepily, and grabbed his wand from the side table.

"Look at this!" Alice shoved the paper under her husband's nose, the good news sinking in. "We're free! He's gone!" For the first time since sixth year, Alice felt truly safe. She smiled as the warm feeling of security burrowed its way into her chest.

"What do you mean?" Frank was now fully awake, shocked into functioning by the seemingly impossible news he had heard. He grabbed the paper and scanned the headline.

"I don't believe it," he whispered. "He's gone? He's really gone? But- but how?"

"Who cares?" Alice asked, shaking her husband's shoulders with both hands. "We're free. We don't have to be afraid any more. We can come out of hiding. We can do all the things we've dreamed of!"

"I don't want to worry anymore, Al, really I don't, but I can't help but wonder. See it from an auror's point of view. We still need to catch his followers, who are spread all over multiple countries and can still do damage while at large. This might even be a plot to keep everyone's guard down. It also seems a little suspicious that he just disappears without warning, doesn't it? He's too powerful."

Alice's eyes widened as it dawned on her what her husband was suggesting. "You think–? Frank, that's–"

"Only an extremely dark wizard could have defeated someone as powerful as him! Not even Dumbledore could defeat him! There's a reason that even the leader of the Order of the Phoenix hasn't had us attack him head-on– the Order's not strong enough!"

"Frank, stop! If it was another dark wizard, the Prophet would have put that front and center!" Alice huffed. "Just read the rest of the article, see if it says anything. I'm going to get Neville; tell me if you find something." Frank did as he was told as Alice left to get their son.

 _At long last, after years of fear and disarray in the Ministry of Magic and the wizarding community, the world is secure once again, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. The most powerful dark wizard and the biggest threat to the wizarding world has been vanquished. The public rejoices with the knowledge that the self-proclaimed Lord Voldemort, more commonly known as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named or You-Know-Who, has disappeared after an extremely unexpected encounter in the small village of Godric's Hollow._

 _The small town has been home to one Harry Potter, a previously unremarkable boy, and is now the subject of many theories and conspiracies among the wizarding community, along with young Harry himself. This is due to the fact that the one-year-old seems to have been the illusive downfall of the great and terrible Lord Voldemort. We can only speculate how the pint-sized wonder performed such a feat, but in the meantime, the Prophet brings you an exclusive interview with Albus Dumbledore, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, and Headmaster of the previously mentioned Hogwarts school. He states his opinions, saying, "Yes, it was young Harry Potter who defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. How, we may never know, but I have my speculations, as I am sure the rest of the wizarding world does. However, I do not believe that the Dark Lord is truly gone." When asked what these "speculations" were, Headmaster Dumbledore declined further comment. The wizarding world clamors to know: how could a mere toddler conquer the most powerful dark wizard to date, and where is the hero now? To see what experts say on the matter, turn to pages 3, 4, and 5._

 _Harry Potter? Surely not Lily and James' son?_ Frank thought. _They're not even mentioned in the ar_ ticle. He stopped at a much smaller headline near the bottom of the page. Overshadowed by the joyous disappearance of Voldemort, a modest feature read: **Lily and James Potter Found Dead at the Scene of You-Know-Who's Downfall; see more on page 6.**

"Alice." Frank called, his voice suddenly hollow. "Alice!"

"Given me a second, Frank! Neville is fussy!" his wife called back frustratedly.

"Alice, you'll want to see this!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" she yelled back, and entered the room with her attention focused on the bundle in her arms. She looked up and saw Frank's stricken face. Marriage had attuned Alice to her husband's facial expressions, especially when something was wrong. "What happened?"

"Take a look," he replied hoarsely, handing her the newspaper. "Read the bottom headline."

Alice gasped. "No.." she murmured. "No, no, no. They can't be– Frank, they can't be dead! Not Lily and James!"

"I'm sorry," Frank whispered, and held her and Neville close. "They shouldn't have gone. If only they could have waited one more day."

"But–but– Harry survived! Look, it doesn't say he's dead! How did he survive and they didn't? That's not fair!"

"I know." Frank knew that it was best to let Alice cry it out. He pulled her closer and kissed her head. "But apparently, Harry was the one who defeated Voldemort himself."

Alice's mouth fell open. "He did?" she whispered. Frank nodded. "H-how?"

"They didn't say. Not that the dingbats at the Prophet would know, anyway."

"Merlin," Alice said hoarsely. "A one-year-old. That's incredible," she managed weakly.

"Mama sad?" Neville asked. The parents looked down at the boy in surprise. Neville had spoken before, but he hadn't ever really formed sentences before, besides "Hi!" and "Bye!".

"Mama sad?" Neville asked again.

"A little, Neville. I'll be okay." Alice pulled her son closer to herself as well, so that the family was in a somber group hug. The shock lessened as Alice tightened her hold on her family, the warm, secure feeling thawing her fear.

* * *

"Mom, you've got everything? Diapers, food, toys–"

"Honestly Frank, this isn't my first time taking care of a baby. I'll be fine. Neville will be fine. Go and enjoy yourselves. Out!" Frank and Alice had decided to see if the world was actually as safe as the _Prophet_ claimed before bringing their son out of hiding for the first time in his short life. Frank's mother, evidently, found this an unnecessary precaution that had to be done as quickly as possible. Augusta Longbottom shooed her son and daughter-in-law towards the fireplace, yelling after them, "Say bye, Neville!"

"Bye mama! Bye dada!" The parents each kissed Neville's head and went through the floo. Little did Frank and Alice Longbottom know that that was the last time they would recognize their son's voice.

* * *

Even though there were people rejoicing all around Diagon Alley and the air was humming with laughter, chatter, and singing, there was still a shroud of caution and uncertainty around the place. People would not, could not, let their guards down. Everyone was waiting for the safety to be proclaimed a false alarm, to go back into hiding. No one dared go anywhere without at least a wand. It felt naked to be out in the open without being part of an armed guard. Frank clasped Alice's hand in his as he waved to people he knew, the couple drawing strength from each other.

Being prominent figures of the Light, respectable aurors, and having put many of Voldemort's followers in Azkaban, the Longbottoms were bigger targets than most of the other people milling about. Frank did not trust anyone except Alice and his mother by any means, and hadn't for a long time. It was going to take a long time to stop seeing anyone he didn't know as an enemy. He couldn't let his guard down just yet.

"It's interesting," Alice murmured, more to herself than to Frank.

Nevertheless, Frank asked, "What's interesting?"

"Each disappearance, each death, was a blow to everyone. Now that he's gone, they don't care."

Frank sighed. "You're talking about James and Lily, aren't you?"

"Of course I am! I only found out that they were gone today! No one else seems to care! They all praise Harry, but they don't stop to think about anything else! Not how James and Lily might have reacted if they'd survived or– or if they even did!" she burst out.

"Alice, I know you're upset, but please keep your voice down," Frank asked. "We're attracting a lot of attention." He glanced pointedly at the many people whispering and indicating the Longbottoms to each other. Nobody noticed the Disillusioned figure slipping among the crowd to be in a side street across from the couple.

"Let's just keep walking," Frank suggested. He and Alice continued down the road away from the Leaky Cauldron. The figure followed, still unnoticed.

The Longbottoms eventually reached the border between Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley. When Voldemort had been at large, anyone found down that lane would be questioned and, more often than not, thrown in Azkaban. Supposedly, the ban was lifted now that he was gone, but people still avoided the shadier alley, and thus, the surrounding area was almost deserted, save Alice and Frank– and the Disillusioned figure, who slunk unnoticed into Knockturn, where they were joined by three other similarly disguised figures.

"Frank, let's get back to everybody else. Let's go home," Alice made to turn around, but stopped when her husband didn't follow. Unnoticed by either of them, the first figure waved a long, thin, brittle wand.

"Hold on. I think I see something." Frank was staring into the first shadowy side-street that branched off of Knockturn Alley.

"Frank, there's probably no one there. We're not on duty anyway; we can come back later." Alice pulled on Frank's shoulder. "Frank. It doesn't feel safe here. We need to leave. _Frank_." she tugged harder. "C'mon, Frank. If it really bothers you, we can report it. But now you're making me uneasy. _Frank_! Please!"

But Frank Longbottom wasn't listening. _Investigate. Something's wrong,_ a little voice told him. _You need to go down there and find out what it is. It could be dangerous._ He couldn't hear his wife, or anything for that matter. All he could hear, and all he would listen to, was the voice telling him to examine the shadowy movements. Frank's eyes glazed over as he stumbled out of his wife's grip.

"Frank! Frank, come back!" Alice called. The thin veil of security Alice had formed around herself with Frank's hand as an anchor disappeared with him around the corner. She huffed. "I'll just wait here, then!" she called. But when Frank didn't return, she started to worry. Alice peered around the bend apprehensively. _Where is he?_

"Frank?" Alice called again. She opened her mouth to yell to him again when she heard the first scream.

"Frank!" Abandoning all caution, Alice raced top-speed toward the sound. _Frank was right, we're still not safe. We're not safe. He's not safe._

When she rounded the corner, Alice could only stare. Frank was rolling on the floor, very obviously in pain. A hooded figure with dark, wild, curly hair was pointing a gnarled wand towards the writhing Frank Longbottom. As he let out another blood-curdling scream, Alice snapped back to life.

"Frank! NO! What do you think you're doing! Stop it! Please!" The figure smiled cruelly and only increased the pain; Frank's screams grew louder.

Alice ran to her husband, stroking his hair, but he only thrashed more. "HELP! Somebody help! Death Eaters! Please, somebody help!"

The person torturing Frank frowned and diverted their attention to the sound of footsteps coming towards Knockturn Alley. Frank calmed down as the pained relented temporarily. The footsteps gave her hope that they would get help, and Alice opened her mouth to scream again. Unfortunately, one of the Death Eaters noticed this and silenced her.

The first Death Eater suddenly grabbed Alice's shoulder and pointed their wand in her face. Alice fell to the ground, and the movement shifted the Death Eater's hood, Alice looked at their– no, _her_ – face and her eyes hardened in recognition. Bellatrix LeStrange. Alice tried to speak again, but Bellatrix cut her off.

"Tell me how Harry Potter defeated the Dark Lord," Bellatrix spat harshly, but quietly and hurriedly, as if she didn't want to be overheard and was planning to depart as soon as she got what she wanted.

Alice opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Bellatrix rolled her eyes and freed Alice from the silencing charm.

"I don't know how Voldemort–"

Bellatrix hissed. "You dare speak his name, filthy blood-traitor? You'll pay for that." She drew back from Alice, pulled out her wand and shouted, " _Crucio_!"

It was as if every Alice's every nerve was on fire – as if someone had left a million knives in a fire until they were white-hot and had driven them into her flesh, down to her bones, very, very slowly. Alice's own screams were drowned out by the rushing of pure pain through her head, heart, and soul. There was nothing she could do to relieve herself from the torture, though she fought. Alice Longbottom was still fighting when everything went black.


	24. GinnyLuna

**A/N: This story was written for Slytherin house in the Houses Competition round 4 as a drabble using the prompt Ginny/Luna. Enjoy!**

 **Word count (not including A/N): 748**

"Hermione, you need to help me!" Ginny called as she let herself into her friend's apartment. Ginny dumped her bag's contents unceremoniously onto Hermione's kitchen table, unshrinking the many binders that were her wedding plans.

Hermione walked into the kitchen, unsurprised at finding Ginny already pouring over pages of seating plans. It had become a regular occurrence for Hermione to find any number of her close friends completely at home in her apartment uninvited. And with Ginny's wedding drawing ever closer, the redhead was getting increasingly stressed about all the planning, and turned to Hermione's cool logic and problem-solving skills for help more often than not.

"Wedding plans again?" Ginny nodded. "What is it this time?"

"Luna's gone and filled the two extra seats, but she didn't write who they're for! But I don't want to change anything in case I mess anyone else's place up!" Unruffled, Hermione poured two glasses of water and set them on the small space of visible wood left; the seating chart was so large that it covered almost the whole table. Having already planned her own wedding, Hermione was much more confident about the wedding plans than Ginny.

"Let me see," she demanded, pulling up a chair and examining the maze-like seating chart. Eventually, Hermione could only say, "You'll have to ask her. I don't know what it is, but Luna seems to have engineered a very complicated system for this."

Ginny groaned. "I'm gonna go over it one more time." She glanced at the water Hermione had brought her. "You got anything stronger?"

Hermione shook her head. "It's not good for the baby," she replied, rubbing her slightly swollen stomach.

Ginny downed her water anyway and sighed. "I can't make heads or tails of it. See you later, 'Mione."

"See you." Hermione waved her wand in a complicated patterned and all of the papers zoomed into their respective folders in order.

"What would I do without you?" Ginny asked, hugging her best friend.

Hermione smiled. "Probably die." They both laughed as Ginny made her way to the fireplace.

"See you tomorrow. Mum's making turkey," Ginny reminded Hermione, referring to their monthly Weasley dinners.

"How could I forget? Now go home! I've had enough of you lot popping in whenever you please!"

"I know you still love me!" Ginny smirked, and before Hermione could retort, she threw the floo powder into the fireplace and was gone.

"Luna?" Ginny called for her fiancé once she stepped into their apartment. "Luna, are you there?"

"Right here!" The dreamy blonde was set up in the living room with her easel painting a sunset view of their (enlarged) window.

"You changed the seating chart again," Ginny pointed out irritably. "There are two extra seats that you filled." She took the seating chart binder out of her bag and slammed it into their coffee table, pointing to the offending places with her index finger.

Luna crossed over to Ginny, hanging her apron on the back of their rocking chair. She knelt behind the redhead and began to massage her tense shoulders. "Which seats?"

"These," Ginny pointed again more forcefully than before.

"Oh, I changed those seats a long time ago," she said conversationally, used to Ginny's aggression by now.

"For who? I didn't notice anything before!"

"That's because you changed Hagrid's seat. They made sense before."

"He's too tall to be that far in front!"

"Fine," Luna said coolly, moving her fingers gently to Ginny's neck.

"You still haven't told me who they're even for!" Ginny argued, trying not to relax into Luna's massage.

"They're for my mother and your Fred, of course."

Ginny had opened her mouth to retort, but stopped at the sting of Fred's name. A seat for Fred? Why hadn't she thought of that?

She turned around to face the blonde, who sat back on her knees and waited for Ginny to respond with a fond smile.

"Y-you saved a seat for Fred? And your mother?" Ginny asked hoarsely. Luna nodded matter-of-factly. "Thank you." Ginny didn't trust herself to speak anymore.

"Of course." Luna stood, taking Ginny with her, and pulled her fiancé into a comforting hug.

Ginny eased into the hug and breathed in Luna's oil-paint smell. "I love you."

"And I you."

"I'm sorry I was mad."

"It's quite alright. Wedding planning can attract nargles, especially if you're stressed."

"Aah, that's why my mind's been fuzzy lately," Ginny said, kissing Luna on the temple.

"Mhmm," Luna hummed in agreement.


	25. Trunk

**A/N: This story was written for Slytherin house in the Houses Competition round 4 as a themed story using the prompt trunk. The italics are flashbacks, by the way. Enjoy!**

 **Word count (not including A/N): 2,843**

 **Trunk**

Barty hurried down the Defense Against the Dark Arts hallway, keeping his head down in case he didn't make it to his quarters in time. It wouldn't do for anyone to see him and wonder why his features were melting and changing; luckily, it was after hours, so no students or faculty were about.

Breathing a sigh of relief as he closed and locked his office door, Barty strode into his private chambers. There sat his cauldron, which had sat bubbling with the same murky brown potion since he arrived at Hogwarts. He ladled the polyjuice into his hip flask and took a long sip. His hair, which had begun to yellow, returned to its drier gray. Barty sighed again and collapsed onto his bed, easing Moody's wooden leg off of his stump.

That was too close, he told himself. He could not mess this up, not when there was so much at stake. The Dark Lord had trusted Barty with this mission, with his life, and Barty would not disappoint.

Startling Barty from his thoughts, Barty heard a faint voice shouting. Rolling his eyes, he crossed over to Moody's trunk, snatching the keys out of his robe's inner pocket. When he unlocked the trunk, the real Moody's cries became amplified, something that Barty quickly fixed with a stunning spell. Then he jumped into the trunk's belly and forcefully ripped a fistful of now-dirty hair from the ex-auror's head. After Barty Wingardium Leviosa'd himself out of the trunk, he added the dry grey hair to his cauldron, stirring and humming happily, almost managing to forget dinner. Moody began making himself heard again, and Barty groaned. Reluctantly unlocking the seventh compartment and wrenching open the trunk again, he peered down at the broken man.

"What do you want?" he sneered nastily.

"Take a wild guess," Moody rasped, spreading his arms as wide as they could go in the confined space.

"You know that you're useful to the Dark Lord, Moody. Be glad for it; you wouldn't be alive otherwise. Now, if you're just complaining, I'll be leaving you to your cozy compartment now." Barty smiled at the Auror, his smile never quite reaching his eyes as he made to close the trunk.

Then he heard Moody's voice, now very smug, reach him again. "Daddy's visit got you cranky?"

Barty stopped, his eyes hardening with rage. He re-opened the trunk and asked Moody, only just loud enough for the prisoner to hear him, "How do you know my father came to the feast today?"

"Aww, poor Barty never learned the days of the week," Moody sneered. "Maybe it's because his daddy didn't have time to teach him," he stage-whispered.

"Shut up and don't talk about things you don't understand, Moody!" Barty shouted, his eyes narrowing. "My father is an evil, vile, pitiful excuse for a human being!"

"This coming from a Death-Eater," Moody laughed, though there was no trace of humor in his laughter. "You don't have your father's name to hide behind anymore, Crouch."

"You better watch your step, Moody, or I may just shave your head and send an Avada Kedavra your way," Barty hissed. His hand flexed over his wand as if he were already imagining casting the Unforgivable. "I am not a man to be crossed."

"But you failed potions too; just another reason Daddy's disappointed in you, I suppose!" Moody called up as Barty, disgusted and sick of quarreling with his prisoner, slammed the trunk shut.

Yet Moody's words had wormed their way under his skin, upsetting Barty. Seeing his father brought up a lot of memories, none of them good. Bartemius Crouch Sr. had never had time for his only son, too busy trying to advance his career than teach his son how to fly. His father had hoped to become Minister one day, and one of his ambitions, was for his son to follow the same path. Barty had been compared to his well-known, respectable, pureblood father his entire life, and he hated it. He was sorted into the same house (Slytherin), had the same ambitious dream to be a powerful, influential leader, and even had the exact same name as Bartemius Crouch Sr., though he had always preferred "Barty"; it was a lot less to live up to. While he'd never wanted to be a Ministry worker like his father, if that was what it took to become powerful, he was willing to do it.

That all changed when Voldemort rose to power.

Pureblood though he was, Bartemius Crouch Sr. knew that the prejudice threatening the Wizarding World was not something many would stand for. So, ever the calculating Slytherin, he did the only thing he knew to keep his dream alive: he followed public opinion, fighting the prejudice, becoming a beacon of hope for fearful citizens who didn't know how to stand up for themselves. But that wasn't to say Crouch Sr. believed in Mudbloods' rights, Barty thought savagely. He was personally indifferent on the subject, although no living person except Barty himself knew that, for the public thought him a fearsome opponent of anything resembling Voldemort's ideals.

As Voldemort gained power, so did Crouch Sr.– and he loved it. He had worked too long, too hard, for something as trivial as family to stop him from becoming the all-powerful Minister. This left Barty feeling the full force of neglect – and of bullying. Since Barty was in Slytherin, many of his peers belonged to the Sacred 28 and supported Voldemort, believing he had the right idea. And with his father leading the Ministry's resistance, Barty was heavily criticized and was on the receiving end of people's anger for his father's work. Isolated, rejected by both the pureblood and Mudblood students, the morals his father had drilled into him over breaks and summer holidays became twisted and morphed. If both sides rejected Barty because of his father, who was he to align himself with, and who was he to blame?

The only answer was, ironically, what his father had searched for all his life– power. If Barty devoted himself to gaining power and became powerful, going beyond his father, people wouldn't belittle him. He could choose what he wanted to do. The only problem was that Hogwarts students were not typically handed such positions, leaving Barty to take matters into his own hands.

With growing hatred of his father, the Ministry, and his peers, Barty's ambition led him to the one thing he had been warned against countless times– Death Eaters, in the form of Severus Snape. Most of Hogwarts knew that Snape was a loner, so it seemed to Barty that he and the greasy-haired halfblood were in the same boat. But while Barty had been avoiding Slytherins who had shamed him, Snape had wormed his way into their inner circle. And when Barty asked, Snape had introduced Barty to power– just what he was after.

Barty looked down the table to where Narcissa Black, Lucius Malfoy, the LeStrange brothers, Evan Rosier, Crabbe and Goyle (no one was quite sure what their first names were), Alexander Travers, Walden Macnair, and Severus Snape sat. Snape was obviously the youngest there, and wasn't part of the main conversation, but he seemed to be accepted all the same, if a little ignored. The group spoke in hushed tones. Suddenly, Rabastan LeStrange looked over at Barty, who had been staring. Barty quickly went back to eating, but Rabastan had already turned to Malfoy, Macnair, and Snape, whispering and pointing in his direction. They seemed to discuss something, then started arguing. Finally, a very reluctant Snape was pushed in Barty's direction, evidently displeased with the task of having to approach him, but he didn't dare protest against the several older Slytherins.

Out of the teachers' line of sight, Snape pulled a chair up next to Barty's and sat next to him. Barty clenched his wand under his robes, prepared for subtle hexes to be sent his way for daring to stare at his older housemates. But, to his surprise, Snape leaned in and whispered, "So, fancy yourself part of our group, Crouch?"

Barty gaped, trying desperately to think. He did need to get in control of something, anything really, and this could be an opportunity staring him dead in the face. He'd be a fool not to take it. "Yeah, sorta."

Snape's eyes narrowed, but nevertheless, he delivered the group's message– "If you want to come with us and join His circle after you graduate, meet us on top of South Tower at 2:30 am tomorrow."

As much as Barty wanted to distance his father's image from his own, he needed power. He needed power to stray away from that image, and what better way to gain power than through the exact group his father stood so starkly against? When he reached the South Tower, he was forced under the Imperius curse, courtesy of Bellatrix (who had already graduated and had apparently become a Death Eater soon after, already working her way up in the ranks; she was always happy to torture and give her Lord more followers), and had to fight it enough to cast a Cruciatus on an Engorgio'd spider without being forced to eat it– to "prove his loyalty and obedience". He just barely made it, and even though he was laughed at for his near-failure, Barty knew it would be worth it. He'd be his own person, different from his father. The Dark Lord would ensure it.

When he graduated Hogwarts, Barty Crouch Jr. took a break before starting a career, a tradition that wasn't as widely practiced nowadays, but it gave him a plausible excuse to leave to Wales– Voldemort's territory. Barty was going to get his Mark.

Barty entered a crumbling mansion. It had been abandoned many years ago, and was now thrumming with Dark magic– the Dark Lord's magic.

He shakily grasped a heavy stone knocker, knowing that he wouldn't be able to turn back once he entered. He wanted to be powerful – something the Dark Lord promised in abundance – but by joining the Death Eaters he was disregarding everything his father had taught him.

Barty let go of the knocker and a long, loud boom echoed throughout the castle.

There was no warning before the door was thrown open of its own accord. Barty gulped and stepped into a massive, dusty entrance hall. Waiting for him at the bottom of a front-and-center sweeping staircase were two masked Death Eaters.

"You came," the voice of Bellatrix LeStrange sneered. Her nose was in the air, as if everything was beneath her, and she was looking at Barty as if he was a slug. "We didn't think you'd be smart enough."

"Our Lord awaits," Severus Snape's voice cut off Barty's retort, stopping an argument before it could form, an act which likely saved one of Barty's limbs– Bellatrix LeStrange was not one to provoke.

The three climbed flight after flight of steep stairs. Lord Voldemort resided in a small chamber at the top of the highest tower, and no one dared complain about the arduous climb. One of the chamner's stone walls had been completely eroded over time, opening to the setting sun. The windows had no glass, and Barty could only assume that the floor had some charms on it, for if it didn't, it would surely collapse under the weight of all the people in the room.

In the small room there were as many as twenty Death Eaters crammed in a rough circle, all masked and dressed in plain black robes. Snape, though he was only two years Barty's senior, could hardly be the youngest person there. Some probably hadn't even taken their OWLS yet. Barty had known that a following was forming around Voldemort, but not as large as this.

Barty's observations ceased when a pale, ominous, unmasked figure appeared in the room. Instantly, an air of rapt attention and fear filled the room as everyone bowed low. Barty hurriedly did the same, and as he was bent over, he was shoved into the center of the room under the terrifying gaze of the Dark Lord.

"Bartemius Crouch Jr.," Voldemort drawled. It wasn't a question. A few chuckles could be heard at the mention of Barty's surname. "You wish to join my ranks and contribute to our noble cause."

"Yes, my Lord."

"You've noticed the followers that I have gathered with me. Do not be under the impression that it is easy to join them. You must pass a test to prove your loyalty."

"What must I do, my Lord? I am your–"

"Silence." Barty shut up immediately.

"You need not worry," Voldemort said, thought the words were anything but comforting. "All you need to do–" He waved his wand over the floor, and in a puff of smoke, a small House Elf with a round, squashed-in nose and wide, fearful brown eyes appeared by his side. "–is kill her."

"Winky," Barty breathed. How did his father's House Elf get here?

Winky had been the one who cared for Barty and his mother when his father was off brainwashing the Ministry. She had made sure that Barty had someone to talk to at home because he had no friends at school, the one who convinced his father to stay home for that one Christmas in fifth year, the one who made him feel safe in a world of indifferent or hateful people, and the only one Barty thought truly cared about him.

Barty's first impulse was to flat out refuse. But that would get himself killed. So, this is what it comes down to, he thought to himself. Me or Winky.

Refuse and you'll still have your father's protection, the security of his position, he told himself. A father who all but abandoned you and your mother for power, another part of him argued. A father who wanted everything for himself and nothing for you, and who would stop at nothing, including your security and well-being, to get power.

That decided it.

He had come too far, suffered too much, to let a House Elf stop him here. Winky, though very sweet, would not be something he would (literally) kill himself over.

"Avada Kedavra."

Winky collapsed, dead. Barty had mastered the Slytherin mask of indifference by now; only this kept him from crying out. His caretaker, his childhood friend, the only person who made him feel secure about himself and his situation– gone. Barty couldn't control how his hands shook now.

Winky's body hit the floor– and crumbled into stones. Voldemort vanished the rocks with a flourish.

Sensing Barty's stunned confusion, he smiled. "Lord Voldemort does not deal with mere House Elves, Barty." A ripple of chuckling spread through the Death Eaters.

"Silence." Voldemort's fearsome aura took effect at once, and the room fell silent. "You are willing to kill the thing you love most, your weakness, in my name, Crouch. You are ready."

In his office, Barty shuddered as he recalled the searing pain of obtaining his Mark. He clutched his arm subconsciously as a phantom pain went through it.

Barty used to be a person that cared about other people. That person died in Azkaban. There, dementors had haunted him with memories of the horror he'd inflicted, the Longbottoms' screams, his father's scathing words, the oppressive loneliness he hadn't ever been able to successfully suppress. All he could feel for a year before he was rescued from the prison was self-pity and hatred for those who tortured him through his memories.

When his parents finally rescued him, Barty had officially gone insane. The Imperius curse didn't help in the slightest. Barty felt trapped in his own body, and even with Winky (who brought up a whole load of other unpleasant memories) caring for him, he didn't feel safe in his own home. And he wasn't. His father despised him for taking the Mark, and now Barty would never be secure again in his father's home. More times than he could count, Barty had thought to himself as he sat under the invisibility cloak like a mindless puppet, A real father wouldn't feel the need to control me. A real father would be content with his Ministry position and wouldn't care. A real father would make sure his son came first.

Fighting off the Imperius curse was no easy feat, but the feeling of finally being in control of his own body was worth it. His control regained, Barty could have run off and started fresh after the World Cup. But he needed more; he needed power. The wizarding public may have thought they were safe, but the Dark Lord still lived. If Barty gained his Lord's trust, then he would have power beyond comprehension. And what better way to earn his trust than bringing him back to life?

Moody and his trunk were the key, Barty's guaranteed path to power, and, more importantly, security and happiness– something that Bartemius Crouch Junior had been denied for too long.


	26. Broken Wand

**A/N: This story was written for Slytherin house in the Houses Competition round 5 as a drabble using the prompt broken wand. Enjoy!**

 **Word count (not including A/N): 645**

 **Broken Wand**

Ron slammed his wand onto his desk in frustration. The Spellotape holding Ron's wand together came apart as it was thrown on the hardwood surface. Many of his classmates, already seated farther than usual from him and Harry because of the rumors of Slytherin's heir, backed away even further as gray smoke smelling of rotten eggs permeated the classroom. Harry patted his back sympathetically with one hand, using the other hand to hold his robes up to cover the lower half of his face.

The smoke vanished, and the class turned to see Professor McGonagall with her wand in the air; evidently, she had been the one to banish it, though a faint wisp of the funk still remained. She pursed her lips deprecatingly at the redhead, who also received glares from the rest of the class, other than Harry and Hermione. "Continue," Professor McGonagall instructed crisply. With some slight grumbling, the class went back to transfiguring their parrots into slippers. Ron turned back to his, only to find that it had flown away in the smelly fog. He had to ask for another, earning another purse of the lips from McGonagall.

I wish I had a wand that actually worked, Ron thought to himself moodily. It had been a few months since school started and his grades were steadily plummeting. Not only that, but everyone stayed far away from him now that he was prone to making random explosions; even more so than Seamus. At least Harry and I are in the same boat, Ron tried to cheer himself up. Better to have low grades than to have everyone think you're trying to kill them.

Ron had grown used to not having the best of anything, really. Even though a wand was a wizard's most important asset, his family couldn't even afford to get him one of his own. So just like everything else, he had gotten the hand-me-down, Charlie's old wand, while his brothers got the new things. Why couldn't they just give me the new wand in the first place, seeing as I'm the one who needs it, Ron grumbled to himself.

Ron suspected that not having a wand of his own had something to do with his wonky magic as well, which hadn't been the best in the first place. Whenever he had gone with his brothers to get their wands, Mr. Ollivander had always said that "the wand chooses the wizard", and he was old, so he probably knew what he was doing, Ron told himself in a would-be confident voice.

Or maybe you're just not as magical as everyone else. Maybe you're part Squib. Harry and Hermione were both raised by muggles, and they're way better at magic than you.

No! Blood status doesn't matter! Ron chastised himself. You just need practice and a new wand!

Bill got Head Boy; Charlie was Quidditch captain; Percy's prefect and is probably going to be Head Boy; Fred and George are smart about pranking, at least, and they're really popular. What've you done? Just tagged along with the Chosen One for a year and nipping some of his attention. You're not going to amount to anything; you can't even turn a bird into a slipper!

The bell rang, scaring Ron out of his brooding, which startled his parrot and made him drop his wand. Parvati Patil shrieked as Ron's bird landed on her head, while his wand let out a bang like a Muggle gun, startling everyone else's parrots. The situation escalated quickly, but Professor McGonagall kept her head and vanished the birds before they could inflict more damage. Even so, feathers and white splatters that no one wanted to look at too closely littered the classroom. As he predicted, Ron received detention: mopping the whole second floor without magic. I'd probably vanish all the paintings or something, anyway, Ron thought bitterly.


	27. The Line

**A/N: This story was written for Slytherin house in the Houses Competition round 5 as a short story using the prompt unforgivable. The italicized portion at the beginning IS NOT MINE, it's cited directly from the Deathly Hallows, and it belongs to Queen JKR. Enjoy!**

 **Word count (not including A/N): 1,524**

 **The Line**

 _"We'll say Alecto was ambushed by the kids, them kids up there, and we'll say they forced her to press her mark, and that's why he got a false alarm… He can punish them. Couple of kids more or less, what's the difference?"_

 _"Only the difference between truth and lies, courage and cowardice," said Professor McGonagall, who had turned pale, "a difference, in short, which you and your sister seem unable to appreciate. But let me make one thing very clear. You are not going to pass off your many ineptitudes on the students of Hogwarts. I shall not permit it."_

 _"Excuse me?"_

 _Amycus moved forward until he was offensively close to Professor McGonagall, his face within inches of hers. She refused to back away, but looked down at him as if he were something disgusting she had found stuck to a lavatory seat._

 _"It's not a case of what_ you'll _permit, Minerva McGonagall. Your time's over. It's us what's in charge here now, and you'll back me up or pay the price."_

 _And he spat in her face._

 _Harry pulled the cloak off himself, raised his wand, and said, "You shouldn't have done that."_

 _As Amycus spun around, Harry shouted, "_ Crucio! _"_

 _The Death Eater was lifted off his feet. He writhed through the air like a drowning man, thrashing and howling in pain, and then, with a crunch and a shattering of glass, he smashed into the front of a bookcase and crumpled, insensible, to the floor._

 _"I see what Bellatrix meant," said Harry, the blood thundering through his brain, "you really need to mean it."_

 _"Potter!" whispered Professor McGonagall, clutching her heart. "Potter– you're here! What–? How–?" She struggled to pull herself together. "Potter, that was foolish!"_

 _"He spat at you," said Harry._ He hadn't realized how much respect and pride he had for Professor McGonagall. But no one had ever dared to disrespect her like that in all the years Harry had known her. Something squirmed in the back of Harry's mind, but he ignored it as an image of Voldemort gliding towards the island with the stone basin flashed through the part of his mind connected to his scar. He completely forgot about it when the flash of pain told him that He knew the locket was gone.

 _"Professor McGonagall, Voldemort's on the way."_

.oOo.

3 weeks later

"Harry?" Ginny called quietly through his bedroom door. No one shouted to each other in the Burrow anymore. "You have the Carrows' hearing in an hour. Are you ready?" He didn't answer. Even though Ginny knew the war was over and that Voldemort was dead at last, she couldn't suppress the bubble of panic rising in her chest when she didn't hear someone respond.

"Harry?" she called again, a little louder this time, unable to keep the fear out of her voice.

"I'm here," Harry replied. Ginny had gotten used to his voice being haunted and hollow– everyone's was, including her own.

Ginny took his answer as her cue to enter. Harry was lying spread-eagled on top of the bed the Weasleys had given him to stay on until he got his own place. Ginny felt a lump in her throat as she remembered Fred in the exact same position. She laid down next to him, and he immediately wrapped his arms around her. After a long silence, Ginny asked, "What's on your mind?"

"Nothing," Harry said a little too quickly.

"It is most certainly not nothing."

"Fine, fine. So it's the Carrows' hearing today, right?"

"Mhmm," Ginny hummed in agreement.

"I was just thinking…. I cast an Unforgivable on Amycus Carrow."

Ginny rolled over to look at him. "Not that it needs explaining, really, but what for?"

Harry smiled bitterly. "Alecto had pressed her Mark, so they needed to catch me before V-voldemort–" Ironically, now that he was defeated, Harry was more nervous to say his title. "– before He came. They couldn't find me under the Cloak, so he told Professor McGonagall that they would pass it off on the students. She wouldn't let him, so he got in her face and said that she wasn't in control, and that they were in control now, and she would help them or face the consequences. And then he spat in her face," Harry finished.

Ginny look outraged. "He didn't!" she whispered. Harry nodded as best as he could while laying down. "Well, he deserved it."

"Did he?" Harry asked quietly, almost shyly.

Ginny sighed. "You're feeling guilty, aren't you?"

Harry opened his mouth to deny it, but he couldn't find it in him to lie to his girlfriend. "Yes."

"You didn't really do anything wrong," Ginny reasoned. "It's not like you go around cursing people for no reason, and that's the only time you've ever used an Unforgivable–"

"But it's not!"

"What do you mean?"

Harry felt as though he was confessing a long-held secret, even though he hadn't really felt guilty about his actions during his fifth year until now. "In the Department of Mysteries, when Sirius– when he–" Harry's chest tightened as he thought about his Godfather. Even though it had been two years, he still didn't like to talk about him. Thankfully, Harry didn't have to explain as Ginny nodded, showing that she knew what he was talking about.

"That... day, when I was chasing Bellatrix, I shot a _crucio_ at her too." Now that the words were out of his mouth, Harry thought he sounded rather stupid.

"Well, it didn't hit, did it?" Ginny asked. Harry obediently shook his head. "So there wasn't really any damage done– well, to her at least. And even if it had, if anyone deserved an Avada Kedavra – especially right then and there – it would be her. Personally, I think that the curse could have done us all a favor. And don't go feeling guilty that it _didn't_ hit her now," Ginny warned before Harry could respond.

"I wasn't going to." Ginny's face changed into one of satisfaction. "But, it's like… like I stooped to their level. The Death Eaters'. I caused someone so much pain for some harsh words."

"Words can do a lot to a person, Harry, especially the person who uses them," Ginny said quietly, but firmly. "And anyone who followed Him is hardly a person, are they? At least not a decent one."

"Yes, they are! They're all real people with real emotions! I think everyone tends to forget that, especially in a war. Look at Wormtail! He was an okay bloke before he got Marked out of fear!"

"You're too kind for your own good, you know that? You're a little like Dumbledore; you always think that everyone deserves a second chance, but sometimes people have already had second chances, and third and fourth and fifth chances, and there's a line that once you cross, you can't come back from. It's like, once you go there, you're unforgivable. Death Eaters like Bellatrix and the Carrows, people who enjoy others' pain, crossed that line long before they died."

Harry swallowed and summoned up whatever courage he could. "Ginny," he started. He bit his lip and decided that there was nothing for it except to plow through. "It felt _powerful_ , it felt almost– almost _satisfying_ to see the suffering they've inflicted on so many others reflected on them. What does that say about me? How close am I to the line?"

"It says that you've wanted well-deserved justice for everyone who was affected by Him! You're far, _far_ , from that line, Harry. Casting a few illegal curses at people who deserve them, at _killers_ , who specifically target innocent people, especially when overcome with emotion, doesn't come remotely close to unforgivable, even more so considering all of the good things you've to help people."

"Just because someone does something good, it doesn't erase all of the bad things they've done."

"Are you sure you believe that?" Ginny asked, almost sarcastically. "You seem to apply that same logic to everyone else! Like Snape! He hid out in Hogwarts for years, where he freely tormented students at his leisure. He treated you and the people around you unfairly because of his childhood rivalries! But because he worked with the Order and was fundamental in His downfall, we all overlook those other things he did. You need to do the same thing for yourself!" Ginny was red in the face now– it seemed that Harry's stubbornness to blame himself was getting to her. She took a deep breath and continued.

"I think… that you can step back from that line before you cross over and redeem yourself. Your problem is that you pull other people back and push yourself towards it and convince yourself that you're 'unworthy' or 'unforgivable' or whatever. You've been so busy protecting others that you've forgotten to take care of yourself. You need to learn to forgive yourself."

"When did you get so wise?" Harry asked, in awe of her speech.

"It's one of my many talents," Ginny smiled softly.

"Thanks, Gin." Harry hugged her and buried his face in her hair, willing himself not to cry.


	28. Real Magic

**A/N: This story was written for Slytherin house in the Houses Competition round 5 as a themed story using the prompt an underestimated individual. Enjoy!**

 **Word count (not including A/N): 3,336**

 **Real Magic**

"Happy birthday, dear Dirk! Happy birthday to you!"

His family cheered as Dirk blew out his candles, making a wish with his eyes closed. I wish – What did he wish anyways? He had almost anything a boy turning nine years old could want – toys, books, friends, a nice home, a loving family, and good food. He couldn't think of anything else he wanted. Still, he blew out the candles anyways.

"What did you wish for?" his younger brother Eric asked, as he did every year. "Tell me, tell me, tell me!"

"Then the wish won't come true, stupid!" Dirk wouldn't admit that he hadn't wished for anything that year.

"Dirk Cresswell, do not call your brother stupid!" his mother called from the kitchen.

"But Mom, it's my–"

"I don't care if it's your birthday; we don't talk to people like that!"

"Fine," he grumbled, but Dirk's grumpiness was soon replaced with excitement as the cake was cut and presents were brought to the living room. Once everyone was situated in their chairs, Dirk got permission from his mother to begin unwrapping the gifts.

The one he reached for first was a sizable box that was heavier than it looked. Taped to the top was a card that read:

Dear Dirk,

I hope this year is your most magical one yet! I can't believe my little nephew's turning nine already! Use this gift well!

From Uncle Joel

Dirk glanced quizzically at his favorite uncle, who looked as excited as Dirk felt. Why had Uncle Joel emphasized "magical"? Maybe it was a clue as to what the gift was? There was only one way to find out, and Dirk wasted no time tearing open the wrapping paper.

Inside was a leather case, rather like a small suitcase. It had no label, only two gold-colored latches. Dirk opened the case and found many odd objects such as a top hat, a deck of cards, a slim stick made of black plastic, plastic cups, plastic ping-pong balls, white polyester gloves, and a thick book. The nine-year-old picked up the book eagerly and read: It's Magic!: Your handbook to astounding and impressing with whimsical wizardry and spectacular sorcery! More advertisements pertaining to the kit's magical benefits were pasted in smaller print on the cover as well, including Over 700 tricks! and Great for parties!

"It's a magic set!" Uncle Joel said gleefully, bouncing over to sit next to Dirk on the floor, chattering away. "The book will teach you it all – card tricks, hat tricks, the cups-and-balls, and even stuff you only need your hands for! You're gonna be a proper magician – look, you even have the hat and gloves!" He took the top hat and put it on his nephew's head. Upon seeing the thin plastic stick, he shoved it into Dirk's hands as well. "And a wand too!"

Dirk was barely listening; instead, he had put down the wand and was already rifling through the handbook. There was a huge chapter on card tricks, one for things you could do with the hat, gloves and wand (each of which, judging by the diagrams he caught brief glimpses of, were more than props and more useful than they seemed), a section dedicated to different variations of the cups-and-balls trick, and many more. He was instantly mesmerized.

It wasn't a huge surprise that Uncle Joel had chosen something like this as a birthday present. Ever since Dirk was old enough to pay attention, his uncle had entertained him, his brother, and his friends with magic tricks that were impossible for the young kids to figure out. Nobody knew how Uncle Joel did what he did, but in first grade, Dirk and his friends had eventually come to the conclusion that magic was real and that his Uncle Joel was a wizard. They had formed a secret society, an exclusive club, of people determined to discover the magical society that Uncle Joel was obviously secretly part of. They never had found it, but Dirk had been trying to figure out how to do magic from then on. When he had asked Uncle Joel to show him how, his uncle had told him that the family secret would be passed down to him when he was 18, an adult. That didn't stop Dirk from trying to learn while he waited, but he was glad he wouldn't have to wait another nine years.

"I'll really know how to do magic? I thought you had to be a wizard!" Dirk asked his uncle.

Uncle Joel laughed. "Well, I was taught by a wizard a long, long time ago. And now, I'm passing on his skills to you. So, yes, you'll really know how to do magic," he assured his nephew with a wink.

"Cool! Thanks, Uncle Joel!" Dirk quickly packed up everything except the top hat he was wearing and the wand he was holding. Picking up the case by the handle, he dashed up the stairs to his room.

"You need to open what everyone else got you! Dirk, you will not leave until you've thanked everybody for their gifts, cleaned up the wrapping paper, and taken all of your new things to your room to be neatly packed away! " Mr. Cresswell called.

Dirk reluctantly walked back down the stairs– his father could be easily angered. He tore through his presents faster than usual, eager to get upstairs and start learning magic – real magic. Though he had gotten most of the action figures he had wanted, nothing topped the magic kit Uncle Joel had bought him. After he completed his tasks, Dirk was finally allowed to open the leather case and begin his instructions. Little did he know that he'd actually have to wait another two years to practice real magic.

* * *

He had been disappointed to find that magic didn't exist; the tricks Uncle Joel performed at parties and the ones in his book were achieved through sleight of hand, knowing where to direct and divert the audience's attention, and some occasional hidden pockets.

But Dirk had discovered a talent that he was told not many people had. He had the power to create such a realistic illusion that even Uncle Joel had no idea how half of his tricks worked. No one expected a child of his very small stature to confuse and befuddle so smoothly. He easily had people telling him to "do it again" so that they could circle him like vultures, hoping to find out how they were being outsmarted.

More than being good at it, Dirk found that he loved "magic". The mixture of delight, confusion, and awe on his friends' faces when he showed them his new trick was always worth it, and kept him going. Over the following two years, all Dirk did in his free time was practice, practice. Magic was not as easy as Uncle Joel made it look. Nevertheless, he steadily plowed through the book, learning and practicing each trick until it was mastered. By the end of third grade, he knew over 250 card tricks and 25 variations of the cups-and-balls.

Dirk Cresswell became something of a legend throughout elementary school. Rumors about inherited abilities from his wizard uncle circled him in the hallways, but he held them proudly as if they were medals. He won the school talent show three years in a row, confusing even the teachers and earning a standing ovation. But not all of the attention he received was good. Some kids began avoiding him for fear that he would read their minds or some other obscene notion. Some people resented his popularity and good grades. Some days, when he wanted a break, people pestered him so much during lunch to show their unbelieving friend how he was actually a wizard. Once, he had actually held out his hands and people were pushed away from him without being touched. Dirk had been just as surprised as everyone else, but they left him alone after that, so he decided that he'd add the trick to his collection. Maybe there was some wizard in him after all.

Ironically, this thought was proved true when he turned 11 when an owl swooped in, disturbing his birthday party. Nodding to it as though he knew exactly what it was doing with a letter (for what else could the unusually thick and yellow envelope hold?), Dirk hid his surprise when the owl let him detach the parchment from its foot calmly as if it had been used to this all its life. Many children ran outside to avoid the bird, but Dirk placidly read the letter.

"It says I've been accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he informed his mother, who was still paralyzed with shock at the sight of an owl in her kitchen. Maybe Uncle Joel still thought Dirk believed magic was real. But as the 11-year-old read the rest, it became clear that this would be an awfully elaborate lie and much too much trouble to go to for a birthday. The letter included a book list, a train ticket, and even the signature of someone named Minerva McGonagall. It had to be real.

"Joel! Joel! Where are you! Come here! We need to talk! This has gone on long enough!" While Dirk had continued reading, his mother had apparently called Uncle Joel to have a word. "Yes, right now!... You know perfectly well what I'm talking about!... Yes to my house; where else would I be? Honestly!... Well, as soon as you can, then. Just so you know, you're insane. I'll see you soon. Bye." She slammed the phone on the receiver, turning to Dirk. "Why don't you go play outside? We'll bring the cake out there."

"Is Uncle Joel coming?" What if his mom was mad at him?

"Yes, and we'll talk with him when he gets here. For now, outside. Go on!" She took the letter from his hand before waving him out the door.

When Dirk got outside, all of his guests turned to look at him apprehensively, waiting for an explanation as to the owl that had disrupted them.

Thinking quickly, Dirk made up something about his fellow wizards contacting him. "Oh, you know, just Uncle Joel writing to wish me a happy birthday. We communicate by owl, you see," he explained airily. He didn't know why he couldn't tell his friends that he had been accepted to a wizard school, but something told him not to.

After spending a few long, awkward minutes in which the party guests kicked around a ball, an old, muddy truck turned into the driveway, nearly running over a stray cat. Uncle Joel strode briskly out of the driver's seat, taking a moment to wave hurriedly at Dirk and his friends, through the front door and into the kitchen. Dirk could see the siblings arguing through the window– Mrs. Cresswell started lecturing Uncle Joel frustratedly, pointing at the letter angrily as Uncle Joel expressed confusion, putting out her fire. They eventually huddled together to read the letter carefully and discuss its strange contents. By the end of the conversation, both adults looked considerably pale.

Fortunately, there was still cake to entertain the guests before their parents came to pick them up. Once everybody had left, Dirk was called into the living room for "a talk". That didn't sound good.

"So, Dirk, honey, I know it's your birthday, but I think it's time we told you something," Mrs. Cresswell started. "I know you like to do your tricks with the handbook and your kit and tell everyone that you and Uncle Joel are wizards, but this has gone on for long enough. You're 11 now, and I thought you'd grow out of this, but I think it's time to tell you: magic–"

She was cut off by a sharp rap at the door. With a short "wait here" and some muttering ("Your father's not supposed to be home until late and he wouldn't knock anyway… "), Dirk's mother left the living room to answer the knock.

The Cresswells were not prepared for a tall lady in flowing green robes with a tall, pointed, black hat to let herself into their house. She walked briskly down the hall to the living room with an air of importance, giving off an aura of someone that wasn't to be crossed. She wore square glasses and had her dull brown hair pulled back into a tight bun. This was, of course, Minerva McGonagall.

"Hello. My name is Professor McGonagall. I'm terribly sorry for intruding, but I've come to explain the meaning of the strange letter you received earlier. No, it is not a fake or a joke, Mrs. Cresswell," she said to Dirk's mother, who had just entered the living room with a dumbfounded expression after letting the woman – McGonagall, apparently – in. "Nor did Mr. Cresswell send it. As you may have guessed, I am Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and the person who sent you that letter."

"You're saying that Dirk is actually accepted to this– this– school? A school for witchcraft and wizardry was it?" Uncle Joel asked. McGonagall nodded. "How do we know you're not just a insane lunatic out for money?"

"Because I can do this." And she vanished with an audible pop and reappeared at the other end of the room. Seeing the adults' stricken faces and Dirk's wide-eyed one, she smirked and promptly transformed into a cat– the same stray that Dirk had seen near Uncle Joel's car.

Uncle Joel gaped, "I nearly ran you over," was all he could say faintly.

"I forgive you," McGonagall said tersely, transforming back to a human.

"But – but magic isn't real!" Dirk burst out. Watching her tricks carefully, he couldn't see how McGonagall could have done it, unless she had a secret pocket with a cat in it. But then where could she have gone?

"Are you quite sure you still believe that?" McGonagall asked. After thinking, Dirk shook his head.

"So will I be able to do that?" he asked, nodding at the corner where McGonagall had reappeared.

"It's called Apparating, and yes, eventually, you will be able to do it."

"So my tricks have been real magic all along?"

"Your tricks?" At her question, Dirk promptly pulled a ping-pong ball out of his mother's ear. McGonagall seemed impressed, but nevertheless, she had to tell Dirk, "Sleight of hand does not qualify as actual magic in our world, though I daresay you'd be able to frighten a few first years with that little stunt."

"H-how can my son be a wizard?" Mrs. Cresswell interjected, speaking for the first time. "From what you've just shown us, I'll… humor the idea that magic exists, but Dirk – Dirk can't do any of that – that stuff."

"Well, let's test that theory, shall we?" McGonagall said, a hint of challenge in her voice. She drew a long, thin, wooden wand out of her robes and tapped the coffee table with it. A glass appeared suddenly on top of a coaster. "Break the glass, Dirk – without touching it."

The family gaped at her.

"How?" Dirk asked.

"Concentrate your mental energy on it. Think of something that makes you angry. Imagine the glass being shattered. It will come to you," she instructed.

Dirk tried to conjure up an angry memory. Aha! Learning how to hide a coin behind his hand had been extremely infuriating; he had kept seeing a glint of silver poking out from behind his palm. He pictured that persistent glint and transformed it into the glint of sunlight on glass, glass belonging to the glass on the coffee table, which, in his mind's eye, shattered in his hand where the coin had been. Crack!

Dirk opened his eyes; he hadn't even realized that he'd closed them. On the coffee table, where the cup McGonagall had conjured had stood, now there was a pile of glass shards. Dirk's mother and uncle were looking at him as if he had casually announced that it was raining donuts. McGonagall was looking at him with something that looked like a faint sheen of pride in her eyes.

"Well, there you are; you can't deny his magical abilities any longer," McGonagall declared. And indeed, they couldn't.

As Professor McGonagall explained about Hogwarts and the wizarding world to Dirk and his family, Dirk felt a hyper, anticipatory buzz fill his body. He was going to learn real magic!

* * *

Even if he wasn't allowed to tell his Muggle friends about real magic, that didn't stop Dirk from showing them what he now considered parlor tricks that he had learned from the cheap Muggle handbook. As his classmates got older, he had to increase the complexity of his gags to keep them entertained. The occasional new neighbor would stop by every now and then to see if the rumors were true, but other than that, Dirk didn't entertain much anymore. Couple that with the fact that he only ever saw his old friends during the holidays, and Dirk Cresswell's popularity declined until he was just known as "that boarding school kid who's obsessed with 'magic'".

That wasn't to say that he didn't have friends at Hogwarts. Well, he didn't for his first year. He was a Muggle-born Slytherin, surrounded by people who had grown up believing that he was worse at magic, unclean, below them. They didn't know or care how many card tricks he could perform, or how many A's he got on his report cards; Dirk was extremely sharp, something that pleased his teachers (his Head of House, Professor Slughorn, took a particular interest in him), but inclined his Housemates against him. They hadn't expected him to be so smart because of his blood status, but they especially didn't like to be topped at anything.

So he didn't have friends until one day in his second year. Dirk approached Professor Slughorn and astounded him and the onlooking class with his cups-and-balls trick. From then on, Dirk Cresswell became somewhat famous among the Slytherins and Ravenclaws because how had this Mudblood second year mastered vanishing spells already?

Over Christmas, he collected his old kit and began practicing again. While still maintaining good grades, Dirk Cresswell the Muggle-born started giving out tutoring lessons. He tutored in everything except "his" magic because "that would be telling, wouldn't it?" Most of his students only came to him for help in the hope that they'd be able to surpass the seemingly compliant and non-threatening Muggle-born academically, but Dirk didn't mind because of the way people paid him. People paid him in secret, of course – just not immediately.

This was Dirk's infamous rule: pay when I tell you. Nobody realized that they were in debt for as long as the whip-smart magician said so. This enabled him to construct a web of control over his students; whenever he needed a favor, he could always hint that he'd be needing the accumulated money from someone's ten sessions soon – or… they could just finish this paragraph for him. "Oh, you'd really do that for me? Thanks so much, Patricia, you're a peach. See you next Wednesday!"

Eventually, he cashed in all of his debts at the end of his seventh year, giving him enough to keep himself on his feet until he got a job. He began working with goblins at Gringotts straight out of Hogwarts, using his cleverness to navigate around their greed and distrust.

With a little help from Professor Slughorn, it was no surprise to anyone who knew him that Dirk Cresswell became the first Muggle-born Head of the Goblin Liaison Office. Though he'd been underestimated most his life – at first by his family when they didn't believe he was a wizard and twice by his classmates for his blood status – he'd proven himself a true Slytherin and exceeded all their expectations.


	29. Discovery

**A/N: This story was written for Slytherin house in the Houses Competition round 5 as a themed story using the prompt potion. Enjoy!**

 **Word count (not including A/N): 1,385**

 **Discovery**

Lily woke groggily feeling like crap– like she hadn't showered in weeks. As she sat up, a wave of nausea passed through her, and it wasn't a false alarm. Thinking quickly, she grabbed her wand (which she now kept under her pillow at all times just in case) and conjured a bucket just in time for last night's dinner to come up.

Her retching woke James. He sat up, grabbing his glasses from the bedside table as his protective instincts kicked in. Turning to his right, he saw a mass of red hair falling over his wife's face as she bent over a bucket. James was instantly next to her, stroking her back, holding back her hair, and generally just hovering around, because he didn't really know what to do.

"Hey, Lils," he whispered when she took a deep, gasping breath between retching. "Not feeling well?" She shook her head, turning away from him to cough into the bucket once more. He made a noise of pity as he wrapped his arms loosely around her. "Do you need anything?"

"Water," Lily croaked. James grabbed his wand (also under his pillow) and conjured a glass, filling it with a deft _Aguamenti_. Lily drank and washed her mouth, spitting back into the bucket. When it became clear she'd finished retching, James vanished the mess and she sank back into the pillows with a groan.

"Do you need anything else?" James asked, filling the glass for her again and pushing it into her hands. Lily shook her head. "I'll bring you some toast in case you get hungry." Lily smiled at her husband as he got up and went downstairs, squeezing her hand goodbye.

Lily barely ate any breakfast, but she recovered fairly quickly and was able to get out of bed for a small lunch, despite James' protests that she stay in bed. James would not stand, however, to let her go to that day's Order meeting, insisting that she rest and recover.

"Maybe we should make a trip to St. Mungo's, just to be sure," James suggested nervously as he pulled on his over-robes to Apparate a block from the Order's headquarters.

"James, I'm sure it's just a small bug, nothing more. Stop overreacting and go to the stupid meeting. I'll be fine right here – I can Apparate and I know how to get to you," she told him. "If it gets worse, I'll go to Mungo's, okay?"

"Okay," he sighed. "Get some rest."

"And you be careful."

"When am I not?" Kissing his wife goodbye, James vanished with a pop.

Lily bit her lip, turning over a small worry that had only festered when she had set it aside. She had woken up like this a few days ago as well, but James had been on a mission. He couldn't have made a connection yet. There was only one way to ease her mind.

Standing up quickly, Lily went to their room, dressing without noticing or caring what she wore. Grabbing her wand, she checked the security wards before disappearing with a smaller pop– but she wasn't going to St. Mungo's.

.oOo.

Apparating was a mistake. Lily's stomach lurched unpleasantly as she reappeared in the Leaky Cauldron. Luckily, she managed to keep her meager lunch down. Making a mental note to floo home, she tapped the correct brick and stepped through the archway as if nothing had happened, breathing in the crisp air of Diagon Alley. Lily made her way to the apothecary with a business-like stride; no one stopped to talk and catch up with each other anymore – you didn't know who you could trust.

The smell of the shop alone was enough to make anyone cringe; beetle eyes, newt organs and rat tails sat in their own barrels for mere knuts a pound, while more the more expensive wares such as dragon blood and unicorn hair were stationed in the front window. Lily suspected that the workers didn't change out the old ingredients for the fresh ones very often. But she wasn't looking for ingredients.

In the back of the shop, a display of pre-brewed potions sat proudly on their dusty shelves, while the store's newest, most wanted, and most expensive additions sat in the front window along the bottles of dragon blood. The one thing that Lily liked about the musty apothecary was the wide selection they offered: dreamless sleep potions, cheering solutions, warming potions, hair potions, pepper-up potions, wit-sharpening potions – and, the concoction Lily was after: pregnancy test potions.

Concealing herself from anyone she might know with a notice-me-not charm, Lily swiped one of the black vials off the shelf and walked back to the front of the store to pay. She took off the charm as she got in line, concealing the small bottle in her hand and curling the hand into her sleeve. When she got to the register, a bored-looking girl with pin-straight, dull brown hair stood in a slouch behind the counter. Lily put the potion nervously on the table, embarrassed. The girl simply look at her with a raised eyebrow that made Lily go red; she knew she was very young. Thankfully, the silent employee rung her up quickly, waving away Lily's murmured "thank you".

Stepping out of the fireplace into her and James' cottage, Lily found herself getting cold feet. What if she was pregnant? _Only one way to find out_ , she thought to herself. _James was probably right; it's just a stomach bug and you're freaking out. Just take the potion and be done with it so you don't have to worry._

But once she was in the bathroom, it took several tries for her to actually drink the brew. She knew what she had to do; there was a little tag tied around the neck of the bottle with simple instructions: Drink the potion and gargle for 30 seconds. Spit into a cup. If the potion is red, you are pregnant; if it's blue, you're not.

Finally, Lily compromised with herself by deciding she would close her eyes before she spat. Nodding resolutely, she summoned her Gryffindor courage and drained the bottle. She began to gargle, counting in her head.

 _1, 2, 3, 4, 5…_

 _It's a false alarm – it has to be._

 _17, 18, 19, 20…_

 _Please be blue, please be blue…._

 _24, 25, 26, 27…_

 _What if James freaks out?_

 _28, 29…_

 _It's nothing, right?_

 _–30._

 _I'm not ready for this._

She spat. She took 10 deep breaths and opened her eyes.

A reflection in a smooth, shiny Gryffindor-red liquid stared anxiously up at her.

Lily Potter was pregnant. Lily and James Potter were going to have a baby.

Lily dropped the plastic cup, putting both hands on her stomach and sinking to the floor. Leaning against the bathtub, a million thoughts raced through her head.

 _I'm going to be a mother!_

 _James and I are so young; we can't take care of a baby!_

 _Will it be a girl or a boy?_

 _What will James say when I tell him? Will I tell him? Yes, of course I will; don't be stupid._

 _I think it's a boy._

 _What will Sirius and Remus and Peter say? What will the Order say? I'm not ready for this, I'm only 19! We're barely married; our honeymoon was three weeks ago!_

 _What would we name him?_

 _I can't be a mother– I'm gonna screw up this kid's life! I can't have a baby! I can't be a mother! It's too much!_

Lily didn't notice she had been crying until she tasted salt in her mouth. Weirdly, it brought her back to earth.

 _I have to be strong. James and I, we'll figure it out. We can get help, from the Order. Molly Weasley's pregnant, and she already has five kids, I can talk to her. Yeah, yeah, I'll talk to her._

Hiccuping a little, Lily got up slowly and cleaned up the mess mechanically, her mind far away from her body. Eventually, she decided that she'd get some rest, like James suggested. She crawled into bed, silent tears still streaming down her cheeks, pulling the covers up to her chin, but she didn't sleep. Lily just stayed awake, staring at the ceiling, imagining herself in the mirror with a swollen stomach.


	30. The Duel

**A/N: This story was written for Slytherin house in the Houses Competition round 6 as a short story using the prompt Aberforth Dumbledore. The underlined text IS NOT MINE and belongs to JKR, taken directly from The Half-blood Prince and Deathly Hallows. Enjoy!**

 **Word count (not including A/N): 2,846**

Aberforth watched the four teenagers disappear through the tunnel behind Ariana's portrait, when the painting swung back into place, he continued to stare at his sister's face. "You're seventeen, boy!" he wanted to holler after them.

Only seventeen, he repeated to himself. What was that deluded imbecile of his brother thinking? What had Albus done to these kids?

Aberforth went over the Potter boy's claim. "He left me a job… It's not easy… But I've got to… It's got to be me, Dumbledore explained it all… Your brother knew how to finish You-Know-Who and he passed the knowledge on to me. I'm going to keep going until I succeed – or I die."

I'll bet he did, Aberforth thought darkly. Sort of thing you'd expect an unqualified wizard kid to be able to do without overstretching themselves? My brother knew how to defeat the Dark Lord, did he? Probably didn't share the whole truth with you, I reckon. That's gonna come back to bite you in the ass if I knew him at all. He thinks he knows my brother better than me?

(Flashback)

August 20, 1899

A warm breeze accompanied with dusty sunlight drifted in through the open kitchen window. Ariana was down the hall in her room (Aberforth had persuaded Albus to take her out of the basement; nevertheless her door was still locked with both a dead-bolt and magic.) and all was quiet, save for two voices that drifted towards Aberforth through the aforementioned open window. They, of course, belonged to Albus and Gellert Grindelwald.

Aberforth, however, was stuck in the kitchen, stewing with resentment and peeling potatoes so that he and his siblings would at least have food, if not a real meal. Making me make dinner by hand instead of just waving His Highness's wand and giving us a proper meal, Aberforth huffed to himself. And then he'll complain, of course.

Albus refused to do any housework or cooking, choosing instead to conspire and plan with Grindelwald about the Deathly Hallows and a new Wizarding rule over Muggles, claiming that their plans were far too important for him to think of mundane things like family. When you were working for the benefit of all of Wizardkind ( or "the Greater Good", as Grindelwald called it), what did it matter if one troubled little girl didn't get the basic care she needed, even if she was your sister? This left Aberforth to take care of Ariana, their aforementioned dysfunctional sister, himself.

Suddenly angry, Aberforth slid the potatoes and the peeler to the left until he was right next to the window, where Albus and Grindelwald's voices were clearly audible.

"Once we rally the French, we'll have to move on to Germany…." Grindelwald was saying. "But we may have to spend more time in France and plan accordingly; their relationship with Muggles is oddly neutral…."

"If we leave by the end of January, we'll have ample time to move to Germany by May," Albus suggested, his fingertips pressed together to make a chin-rest.

But what about Ariana?! What about me?! Aberforth knew they wanted to "revolutionize the wizarding world", but he had no idea that Albus was going to move to France and Germany! And, by the sound of it, they had stops in many other countries too!

Aberforth angrily slammed open the back door and marched into the backyard. Albus and Grindelwald were sitting on the grass with piles of train schedules and maps spread out in front of them. When the door banged shut, Albus raised his head annoyedly toward his brother.

"What do you want? I thought you were making dinner." He smirked and Grindelwald snickered behind him.

"You can't go to France! Or Germany!"

Immediately, the condescending air changed into a threatening one. The smirks slid off both elder boys' faces. "How do you know about that?" Albus's voice was dangerously quiet.

"Well you didn't exactly hide it, bragging for the whole street to here about leaving us poor civilians for France in January–"

"You eavesdropped on us?!" His brother and Grindelwald stood up, towering over Aberforth's smaller, skinnier frame.

"That's not the point! What about me and Ariana?! You can't lead a revolution and be king of the universe without publicizing her condition! You can't move her, she's in no fit state, you can't take her with you! You have obligations here, family! You can't just up and leave to hop from country to country making your clever speeches, trying to whip yourselves up a following!"

Albus looked shocked and angry, but Grindelwald looked positively, dangerously murderous. He stopped forward and advanced on Aberforth, abandoning the pretense of a family argument. "You don't realize your worth, do you? Or lack of it, I should say. You're just a stupid little boy who has no idea, none, of the extent of our abilities. Trying to stand in our way is futile: you wouldn't stand a chance against even one of us, you naive, trivial little boy. Your brother and I, with our combined intelligence and skill, are prepared to annihilate anyone who interferes with our success, even you.

"Why would you want to stop us anyway? Do you like living in hiding? In fear? Of Muggles?" He spat the word like it left a bitter taste his mouth. "So what if they find out we exist? It's not like they can do magic, can they? When we rise up and conquer them all, when we're victorious, your brother and I, don't you understand what that will mean for you? And your sick, debilitated sister? She won't have to be moved, she won't have to hide! When we change the world and teach Muggles their place, it'll be better for all of us. You haven't the right or the competence to stop us," he finished smugly, his eyes glinting and his breathing heavy.

Aberforth glanced towards Albus, who, though his face had an anxious expression, hadn't argued during the whole rant. He seemed to be on Grindelwald's side, and wasn't about to help out his little brother (like he should) any time soon. "You want to just transfer the pain of our suppression onto another group of people? How does that solve anything? And Ariana– she can't endure a revolution! There's nothing to be done with her! If we move her into society, she'll be a danger to herself and others! All you're doing is creating violence and disruption! You solve nothing!" he finished loudly.

"Don't talk about things you don't understand," Grindelwald snarled, his eyes turning steely and his jaw set in a malicious, dangerous visage.

"Well I bloody well know what's better for my family than Albus does! Or you!"

"Aberforth! Enough!" Albus cut him off sharply in a bellow not unlike how their father used to yell. He seemed to take the jab at his neglect very personally.

"No! I don't think it is enough! Do you realize what's going to happen when I'm gone? Ariana is going to be left all alone, and you're going to be off in France! You don't care, do you?! You don't care what happens to this family, to me or to Ariana! All you care about is conquering the world and leaving us woeful spellcasters in the past! And for what!? 'The Greater Good'?! Well, I think you and your boyfriend can shove your Greater Good up your–"

"CRUCIO!"

Aberforth was silenced for a half a second– and then his shouting was replaced by screams. Horrible, blood-curdling screams that could only have been caused by the most agonizing torture. His eyes squeezed shut and rolled to the back of his head. His body crumpled to the floor and curled in on itself, desperate to make itself as small as possible, anything to take the pain away. His voice had already become raw from screaming, but that was the least of his misery. His blood boiled like magma, seeming to burn his flesh from the inside out. His head was about to split open and he was sure he'd never be able to use his limbs again.

All of a sudden, he was able to hear again and gulp down sweet air. His mind had cleared slightly, but the rest of him was still paralyzed with pain and fear. Aberforth used the last of his energy to open his eyes and saw Albus's back to him, arms spread out with his wand in his right hand. Aberforth's sluggish, mutilated brain struggled to comprehend what was seeing. Was he imagining this? Albus was protecting him? Against his best friend?

"NO! Gellert, stop! STOP! What are you doing?! You're killing him! STOP! He has nothing to do with this– GELLERT, STOP!"

Albus's pleas got increasingly louder until he was screaming himself hoarse: Grindelwald had aimed another Crucio underneath Albus's arm and Aberforth's mind went blank again.

As the pain receded, Aberforth could hear Grindelwald trying to persuade Albus. "He's only in our way! He doesn't want us to succeed; he's holding you back– holding us back and keeping us from leading! Just let me take care of him–" he said jerkily; he was trying to get a clear shot at Aberforth while trying not to hit Albus, who was blocking his younger brother with his body.

"Let you take care of him?! He's my brother! You just tortured him! You're vile and corrupt!"

Grindelwald's face changed in an instant from a would-be assuring expression to the same dangerous expression he had had when Aberforth had first protested. He grew still and the two masterminds, Dumbledore and Grindelwald, stared into each other's eyes with equal hate.

Suddenly, Grindelwald lurched forward with his hand, not his wand. Albus reacted instantly, throwing himself at Grindelwald to force the latter to focus his energies on him. But he didn't need to. Grindelwald had been aiming for Albus, not Aberforth. He slung his arm around Albus's stomach and squeezed, choking him and dragging him closer. Grindelwald moved his choke hold to Albus's neck and pressing the taller boy's windpipe against his chest so that Albus had to kneel slightly as he gasped for air.

"You could do great things if you just let yourself. You could be extremely powerful, Albus. Just do as I say and let go of this place, these people."

"What do you mean?" Albus coughed out.

"I think you know," Grindelwald responded.

Albus gave a tiny shake of the head.

"Kill him."

He shook his head faster. "I don't want to, I don't want to…"

"I could do it for you if you like, but I suspect my way would hurt him more."

"No, no, no, no, I can't, I can't, don't make me, I don't want to…"

"Yes, you can, Albus! Just– aargh!"

Grindelwald was cut off by a loud bang from Aberforth's wand and a deep gash on his ankle that made him drop Albus. Ignoring the splitting pains coursing through his body, Aberforth stood up from his position on the floor and sent a reducto towards Grindelwald, who deflected it easily and sent it spinning off towards their house. The kitchen window shattered and a cloud of dust went up from a chunk of the wall that was blasted away. Another spell came flying towards Grindelwald and missed him by inches. Aberforth turned to see Albus sprinting towards them, evidently having retrieved his wand. This turned out to be a mistake, though, forGrindelwald hit him with a conjunctivus curse; temporarily blinded, Aberforth stumbled away, casting an unseeing protego. He heard bangs and crashes, yells and screams, but, most alarming, he heard the kitchen door – or what was left of it – bang open and slam shut again.

As he began to see spots again, Aberforth's fears were confirmed as he heard Albus scream, "ARIANA! NO! Get back inside!"

Aberforth could now see blurry outlines of three figures, two dancing around each other, one unwilling to hit the other while at the same time trying to protect the third figure standing to the side. Ariana was screaming madly, and just as Aberforth began to run towards the battle once more, a tree split in half with the sound of a Muggle gun firing.

"Ariana! Calm down! Get inside! You're only going to get hurt! Control yourself and get away!" Albus was screaming at her. Aberforth was suddenly filled with a white-hot, burning rage such as he had never had before.

"You're telling her to calm down!?" Aberforth shrieked as he aimed a flame-thrower curse at Grindelwald; he sent it back with a repelling jinx and Aberforth just barely dodged it. "I'm the one who takes care of her and I told you, she's in no fit state to do anything except stay inside! And now you geniuses have set her off!–" –he directed a confringo towards Grindelwald and released some of his anger with a furnunculus towards his brother– "– It's not her fault she can't control her magic! So shut your face and stop yelling at her! You got us into this mess! If you hadn't let yourself get dragged into 'the Greater Good' and the Deathly Hallows we wouldn't be in this mess!"

At this, Albus pointed his wand at Aberforth and opened his mouth. Aberforth braced himself for the oncoming curse, but it never came. Ariana had stepped between her two brothers.

"Get out of the way, Ariana! I told you to go inside!" Albus repeated. Abruptly, he turned to rebuff an onslaught from Grindelwald.

With his brother occupied, Aberforth chanced a glance at Grindelwald himself. He realized with a start that Grindelwald was much closer than he had been only a few minutes ago– in fact, he was sprinting towards the three siblings with alarming speed while attacking Albus with a series of increasingly dark curses. He would soon be too close to fend off– No, he was too close–

The next few minutes was a purely chaotic blur of increasingly sinister curses. What once were merely painful threats became deadly hazards, what had once been Stupefys and Protegos became Crucios, Avada Kedavras, and Fiendfyre. Each of the three were dueling the other two and blocked out the sounds of people calling for Aurors, for it was apparent that no one was making up. Both Albus and Aberforth were trying to protect Ariana from each other and from Grindelwald as he waged war on the three siblings. As Aberforth aimed to hurt, to kill, he had the foreboding sense that this duel would only end in one way.

Slowly, more green flashed before them than red, and Aberforth's same foreboding sense told him that Ariana was not faring well. He risked another glance away from the duel and saw that his hunch was right– she was growing redder in the face by the second, her head swiveling back and forth between her two brothers, unsure what to do. As she became more and more agitated, the air crackled with barely restrained power. Aberforth knew that she had to get away, the sooner the better. Unfortunately, he was not the only one who noticed this.

"Ariana, MOVE! Now!" Albus yelled to her.

"DON'T TALK TO HER LIKE THAT!" Aberforth bellowed, finally losing his temper. He charged headlong at Albus, abandoning all caution.

But Ariana and Albus saw what Aberforth didn't – Grindelwald. He charged toward the youngest brother, aiming steadily. Ariana screamed – everyone acted at once – Three Avada Kedavras left three boys' wands – three Avada Kedavras missed their targets – the tree that had split in half exploded and so did the house – Aberforth couldn't see – he saw a body that looked terrifyingly like a girl's fly through the air –

Everything went black.

(Flashback over)

Present day

Aberforth was jerked out of his flashback by a high, cold, clear voice that resonated through the whole village. A voice that could only belong to one person.

"Give me Harry Potter and none shall be harmed. Give me Harry Potter, and I shall leave the school untouched. Give me Harry Potter, and you will be rewarded.

"You have until midnight."

He watched Ariana stare into the distance as if he expected her to respond to the void of swirling memories and speculations in his mind. But the young girl just smiled softly, picking at her nails, not saying anything. Aberforth sighed, unsurprised. Neither Ariana, nor her portrait, had spoken for over 107 years.

And it's all because of Albus, he thought bitterly. That's what he does– gets close to you and then you end up in a worse state than if he'd left you well enough alone. That boy has no idea the number that Albus has done on him. Who knows what he could have done with his life otherwise. Same with Ariana….

Aberforth's eyes widened, and a light that had been missing for many long years returned to his electric blue eyes. He's just like Ariana– and I'll be damned if he ends up the same way.

Aberforth picked up his wand.


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: This story was written for Slytherin house in the Houses Competition round 7 as a themed story using the prompt screaming. Enjoy!**

 **Word count (not including A/N): 812**

It had started in sixth year. Alright, that was a lie. It had started a lot earlier than that, probably in her second or third year. Hermione hadn't realized it then, but that fluttery feeling whenever Ron would stand up to defend her? Oh-ho, she had been doomed from the start. But she had waited patiently.

In third year, when they had constantly been at each other's throats over their pets, she had pushed away the pit of loneliness in her stomach, choosing to focus on her new studies, but she hadn't given up on their friendship then. In fourth year, she had been hoping and waiting, a tiny part of her that she refused to acknowledge so sure that Ron would ask her to the Yule Ball. But then Viktor Krum has stepped into the picture and her tiny bubble of hope had floated away, forgotten– that is, until Ron ruined her night. If he wasn't going to ask her, how could he expect her to remain available? He'd mature eventually, she knew, and she waited patiently.

Fifth year proved that Ron had barely matured when it came to relationships. His reaction to Ginny dating Michael Corner (Honestly, what was it with him expecting girls to be single all the time?), coupled with his interrogations of her correspondence with Viktor showed Hermione that Ron Weasley had, as Ginny had repeatedly advised her, the emotional, mental, and romantic capacity of a teaspoon. Watching Harry flounder with Cho did not improve Hermione's view of the Hogwarts boy population, but nevertheless, her fascination with Ron grew and still she waited, patiently, but anxiously.

Sixth year confirmed that Hermione, without a doubt, had fully-fledged, utterly hope-dashing crush. Her bubble of hope, which had grown bigger and stronger with each passing year (and now, she was constantly, painfully aware of it), had popped with the birth of "Ravender", as Eloise Midgen, Parvati Patil, and Ron's new significant other, Lavender Brown, called their relationship. Shamelessly, even gloatingly snogging her brains out in the common room, the hallways, and even at meals, Ron was making it obnoxiously obvious that he was off the market and had never had any feelings other than friendship for his bushy-haired, buck-toothed, stuck-up, rule-abiding friend. Hermione cursed herself as she listened to her dormmates' squeals of delight and obsessive laments about his jaw, his muscles, his Quidditch talent from behind drawn bed curtains. No need to ask who "he" was. Free periods ought to have been spent studying were instead spent in bathrooms bawling her eyes out because how could he be so stupid, how could I be so stupid?! I've been waiting here the whole time, but does anyone notice? No, I'm just the nerdy, ugly muggle-born who gets good grades and lets people copy homework off me! She decided she wasn't going to wait anymore. She wasn't going to let some boy dictate her feelings or when and if she decided to go out. Alright, maybe taking Cormac McLaggen to Slughorn's Christmas party was going too far.

But as the year came to a close, they were drawn together again by Harry and his duty. They both promised him many times they weren't going anywhere. And thick though he might be, Hermione allowed herself to believe that Ron would keep his word.

But Hermione, shockingly, for this did not happen very often, had been wrong. Hunting for Horcruxes had not strengthened the bond between the three, in fact, it seemed to be tearing them apart. As Ron grew surlier, more impatient and harder to deal with in their less-than-ideal circumstances, Hermione could sense that something big, something bad, something terrible, was about to happen. And this time she was right.

And oh, how she wished that she had been wrong.

No amount of pleading, of reasoning, of tears, of screaming, would make him turn around. She had known it from the moment he had set his face in that way – the way he did when he was determined to do something; the way he had in first year when he had sacrificed himself to a giant, murderous chess board; the way he had in third year when he had stood up to a would-be mass-murderer and told him he'd have to kill him to get to his best friend; the way he had in fifth year when he mounted the back of a thestral to save that same would-be mass-murderer from Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries. That way.

He turned away, away from her pitiful, hunched figure, walked out of the wards and disapparated. She wanted to cry. She wanted to hurt something. She wanted to scream, "YOU PROMISED! YOU PROMISED YOU'D STAY!" She wanted to scream every filthy name and word she could at him. But instead, she just called, "Come back! Come back!" _I need you._


	32. Period

**A/N: This story was written for Slytherin house in the Houses Competition round 7 as a drabble story using the prompt "I was lying! I am hungry". Enjoy!**

 **Word count (not including A/N): 363**

Lily woke to a very uncomfortable situation. Even before she looked down, she knew it– sometime in the night, her period had started. When she threw back the covers, large red smear stained the bed was revealed. Gasping, she jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom, swearing fluently in her distress.

After getting a tampon and vanishing the mess, she got ready for what she already knew was going to be a long, painful week. Her back was already beginning to ache and her stomach was already beginning to cramp. Ignoring the pain, she threw on her robes and walked down to the common room, where James was nowhere to be seen. Irritated at him for not being there, especially after he'd promised to walk with her that day, Lily made her way down to breakfast.

The Great Hall was loud as usual and the Gryffindor table, also as usual, was making at least three-quarters of the noise. James and Sirius were talking and laughing loudly with each other, Remus and Peter were playing gobstones on top of the table, and Marlene and Alice were sipping tea while chatting and eyeing the Hufflepuff boys shyly. Lily reluctantly sat in between Alice and James, both of whom were waving her over energetically.

"Good morning, Lily-flower." James grabbed a new plate and started piling stacks of toast onto it. "You want something to eat?"

"I'm not that hungry," she protested, waving the loaded plate away from her. Sirius and Marlene both took it as invitations to snag their favorites off as Alice pulled on her sleeve to point and make moon eyes at the Hufflepuff table.

James frowned. "Fine."

Suddenly, Lily was very annoyed at the whole situation, and the pain in her body was only making it worse. Everyone was too loud, too cheerful, when she was stuck here accumulating blood in her tampon. And to make matters worse, everyone had taken her food! She snatched her piece of toast out of Sirius's hand just as his jaws closed.

"I was lying! I'm am hungry!" she shouted, snatching the plate from James and glaring at Sirius and Marlene. "Give me some toast!"


	33. Pregnant with Twins

**A/N: This story was written for Slytherin house in the Houses Competition round 8 as a short story using the prompt pregnant with twins. Enjoy!**

 **Word count (not including A/N): 1,669**

It was not a secret that Molly Weasley had always wanted a daughter. when she was a little girl she had always dreamed of having a daughter of her own. She would braid her daughter's hair in elaborate hairstyles and look at the newest fashion trends, give her advice and have long "girl talks" (deeply secretive discussions in which women and girls spill secrets, work out problems, vent, complain, gossip and fan-girl to each other). Her daughter would tell her anything and everything about her life: her friends, her school, her crushes; they would do everything that Molly did with her mother.

It was also not a secret that she had been disappointed– three times. Don't be mistaken, she would do anything for her three beautiful sons, Bill, Charlie, and Percy, but after seven years, three tries for a girl and three sons, Molly Weasley decided she was ready.

"Arthur?"

"Mm?" Her husband rolled over drowsily, completely exhausted after another long week of work at the Ministry of Magic. With Voldemort on the rise and more reports of attacks coming in everyday, all of his time was spent covering up the damage from the Muggle community.

"I'm ready to have another baby."

His blue eyes opened wide. "Really?" He sounded worryingly surprised.

"Yes," she said, her voice small. I mean, I know money is very tight and we already have three beautiful sons, each of whom I'm very grateful for, but-" She paused, slightly ashamed to say it. "I'm hoping for a girl this time."

"It's nothing to feel guilty for," Arthur assured her. How did he always know exactly what was in her head? "I know living with four boys can't be easy. I'm more than happy to bring another child into this world, girl or boy, if that is what you want."

A few weeks later, she came into the kitchen later than usual, a triumphant grin on her face."We did it, Arthur! We did it!"

5 months later

Breakfast was a quiet affair that morning– for Molly and Arthur at least. When you have a seven-year-old, a five-year-old, and a three-year-old, any family gathering could hardly be called quiet. As he passed the butter dish over to Charlie, Arthur started, "Molly–"

"No!" She cut him off. "I'm not getting an ultimate-sound and risking the baby!"

Everyone, including the children, fell silent. Molly's face burned red, realizing her mistake.

"What baby?" Charlie asked.

"Baby?" Percy babbled.

Molly opened her mouth to deny it, but this time, Arthur cut her off. "Yes, boys, your mother is going to have a baby."

"I– uh, yes," Molly admitted.

"How?" Bill asked.

"Well, a baby grows in your mum's stomach, and eventually, the, er, baby comes…. out," Arthur explained uncomfortably, his face and neck growing redder by the second.

"Oh…." The two older boys seemed to think this over a bit, while Percy babbled in his chair. "Okay!" They went back to their heated discussion about the "real-ness" of the moon.

Molly breathed a sigh of relief and turned to hold Arthur's hand, her anger forgotten. Arthur squeezed her hand as she surveyed their growing family. "What d'you say, Molly? It won't be that bad," he pleaded.

"I still don't know Arthur," she said worriedly. "Is the Muggle technology really safe? I mean, what really happens in an ultimate-sound?"

"Ultrasound," he corrected gently. "And it's perfectly safe, Molly dear. Lots of Muggles have used this when they have babies, and they're fine! Plus," his voice lilted higher to show she should be curious, "it'll tell you the sex of the baby before they're born!"

Molly's eyes widened as she turned abruptly towards him. "Arthur Weasley, you had better not be playing with me," she threatened.

He shook his head, a barely-suppressed smile on his lips. "I'm not joking with you, dear, I've read about it! It's quite fascinating how the raftiashun– no, radiation, that's right– works…"

"But Arthur, can it really tell us? I could really know if I'm going to have a girl?" She seemed almost beside herself with glee.

"It can." He smiled. "So, is that a yes?"

Molly smiled back and pecked him on the lips.

.oOo.

"Mr. and Mrs. Weasley? The doctor will see you now," a nurse chirped as she emerged from behind a door. Molly and Arthur stood nervously and followed her through the door into a hallway. It was brightly lit with many other corridors branching off of it. Evidently, there were many, many doctors working here, because each hallway had about ten doors with little gold plaques, each stating the name of the doctor that worked there. Eventually, the nurse led them into a room with a plaque that said Dr. Clemens, M.D.

The nurse took Molly's height and weight and had her fill out a long form about her health and her pregnancy so far. Then she left the couple to wait for the doctor to actually come. In the meantime, Molly bombarded Arthur with questions about how the ultrasound was going to work.

"Well, I was doing some general research, really, and they can do it a multitude of different ways, but I don't know exactly how–"

"What do you mean you don't know exactly how–"

Luckily for Arthur, Molly was cut short when the door creaked open. The shortest woman either of the Weasleys had ever met entered the room in a white coat with the name Dr. Stella Clemens embroidered on the chest. She carried a clipboard and wore the biggest glasses Molly and Arthur had ever seen, made proportionally bigger by her short stature.

"You must be Mr. and Mrs. Weasley." She shook each of their hands in turn with a surprisingly strong grip for a woman so tiny. "I'm Doctor Clemens, and I'll be performing your ultrasound today." She looked at her clipboard, and Molly could see the form she had filled out earlier attached to it with the clip. "Everything seems to be in order… Now this is your… fourth child?" she asked with raised eyebrows. Molly nodded uncomfortably. "And this is your first ultrasound?" Molly nodded again. "Excellent. We'll be doing a transabdominal ultrasound today. If you'd be so kind as to sit up on the table, Mrs. Weasley."

Molly walked over to the cushiony table covered in paper against one wall of the room and sat on it with Arthur's help. Dr. Clemens walked over to the sink and washed her hands thoroughly, drying them well with a small paper towel. She then took a rather small instrument from the counter.

"If you would please lie down, Mrs. Weasley" she instructed. Molly complied hesitantly, eyeing the instrument in the doctor's hand apprehensively. Arthur took her hand.

"This is called a transducer," the doctor explained, fiddling with some knobs on the side of a box with a screen. "It will scan the placenta, amniotic fluid, and the fetus with sound waves that can tell us the health, size, and sex of the baby. I gathered from the form that you are most interested in the last piece of information?" Molly nodded. "This will only take a few minutes. It won't hurt," she assured them, eyeing their clasped hands, "but I will need you to be quiet as the transducer does its job."

Dr. Clemens turned to the screen and twisted a few more knobs before pressing a button on the transducer, which began to beep steadily. She passed it slowly over Molly's round stomach from a few inches away, going back and forth until the beeping got faster. The beeping increased until the high-pitched noise was a continuous whine. She shut the transducer off and bustled over to the screen, clicking away.

"You can sit up now," the doctor told Molly after a few minutes. Molly let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding and released Arthur's hand, which had to be numb by now with how hard she had been holding it. He helped her sit up, looking relieved, too. They both smiled at each other and turned to watch Dr. Clemens.

She was staring at the screen intensely, typing on a keyboard and moving a small, rounded piece of metal attached to the box by a cord. It seemed, by the look on the doctor's face, that something was wrong, or at least unexpected. Molly could see a black-and-white, unmoving picture on the screen. I thought she said it had sound waves, she thought to herself. But Molly stayed silent, waiting for the verdict. She looked at her husband. Arthur looked like a boy who had just entered Honeydukes for the first time, absolutely fascinated with the machine that had the keyboard and the screen.

After a ten tense minutes, the doctor looked less and less confused, and by the end, she was smiling. She turned to the Weasleys.

"Are you ready to see the ultrasound?" she asked. Molly and Arthur nodded hastily. Dr. Clemens handed them a photo (Merlin knew where it had come from). It didn't move, which Molly remembered was normal for a Muggle photo. It was mostly black, and they could make out the outline of a placenta and–

"This has to be a mistake– It seems that there are two fetuses here," Arthur pointed out to the doctor, showing her the picture.

She smiled even wider. "There is no mistake," she said with laughter in her voice.

"But then… that means…" Molly said slowly, putting the pieces together.

"Congratulations. You are pregnant with twins– twin boys."

The Weasleys gaped at her.

"T-tw-twins?" Arthur stuttered.

"Twin boys?" Molly gasped.

Dr. Clemens nodded.

Arthur couldn't stand it anymore. He burst into unstoppable laughter.

Years later, when Molly told a heartbroken George the story, he smiled. "So, you had three boys, tried for a girl, and got twin boys?" he asked.

"Quite ironic, really." Molly laughed shakily and put a gentle arm around her son. That smile was the first one he managed since he lost his other half.


	34. Notes

**A/N: This story was written for Slytherin house in the Houses Competition round 8 as a themed story using the prompt interhouse relationship. Enjoy!**

 **Word count (not including A/N): 1,194**

Meet me behind the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy at 11:00 tonight.

Andromeda hastily stowed the note that had been slipped into her bag inside her pocket. She kept her head bent over her plate as she ate her rice; Bella was staring suspiciously at her from down the table. Andromeda glanced at the clock. Lunch was almost over, so it wouldn't be too odd for her to leave now. She stood and left the Great Hall without a glance at the Hufflepuff table.

He really has to be more careful about these things, Andromeda thought to herself as she suppressed a smile. Though the note hadn't come with a signature, or even initials, she knew who it was from: her secret boyfriend (or, as her family would call it, her beau), Ted Tonks.

Andromeda kept her relationship with Ted secret for his own safety. He was muggleborn, and her family, obsessed with Voldemort and his prejudiced views, would reel if they discovered she was seeing a "filthy Mudblood", especially since the Black family was Sacred Twenty-Eight. Her mother would never approve, as obsessed with blood purity as she was. And Bellatrix certainly wouldn't.

Andromeda shuddered at the thought of her sister. She loved Bella, but Bella wholeheartedly believed everyone and anyone who wasn't a pureblood were far beneath her; though Andromeda had been raised on those same beliefs, she now knew those were only prejudices centuries old. If only her sisters didn't believe those lies. It was always a struggle to meet with Ted, for she was always watching over her sister for either Bellatrix or Narcissa, both who would report her in a heartbeat.

Honestly, if she weren't a Slytherin, trained to lie and scheme since birth, she didn't know how she would have done it. But she was, and so she managed to keep her boyfriend secret from the world.

Andromeda let out a breath, realizing once again the risk involved with such a secret. In her heart, she knew she loved him, but knowing the risks and the dangers he was facing for her sake was beginning to weigh down on her conscience. But she couldn't help herself. She had to see him again.

That night, Andromeda stole up the staircase that led from the girls' dormitory to the common room. After casting a Disillusionment and a muffling charm on herself, she ran through the halls and up the many staircases, all the way up to the seventh floor, where Ted was waiting.

When she finally reached the right landing, she was breathing heavily. To her left, there was a blank stretch of wall, but to the right was a tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy trying to teach trolls ballet.

Andromeda carefully crept toward the tapestry and slipped behind it and through a door that had been hidden by the thick woven design. As she turned around to close the door, a pair of arms slithered around her waist. She closed the door with an audible click and smiled.

Soon Ted had her pressed against a wall, trailing kisses up her neck, teasing her until he got to her mouth. As he sucked on that spot, Andromeda let out a quiet sigh, and she could feel Ted smile against her collarbone.

All of a sudden, Andromeda stood stock-still. Ted paused uncertainly, and in the silence, he heard it– an almost inaudible click. Someone was opening the door.

It was too late to try to hide. There was no time to perform a Disillusionment charm. Ted sprang away from her as the door swung open to reveal a young, pale, blond third year– Narcissa Black.

"'Dromeda!?" she screeched. "What–? How–? Who–?"

"Keep your voice down, you're going to wake up the whole castle," Andromeda whispered urgently. "Listen, I know it looks bad, but–"

"Looks bad?" Narcissa took in their disheveled hair, their wrinkled clothes, and their breathlessness, and then she put the pieces together. Her pale face turned red. "You– you're with– with him!" Narcissa pointed at Ted.

"I can explain–"

"Explain that you're consorting with a Mudblood!"

"Don't call him that!" Andromeda shouted. She stepped forward and grabbed her sister's wrist. "You can't tell anyone! Especially not Bella or our parents! Do you understand?"

Narcissa brandished her wand in her other hand. "You're going to be disowned! What were you thinking? What will everyone say?"

"No one will say anything if you keep quiet about this!"

Narcissa didn't ignored her sister, instead shouting, "Get off me!" She jerked her hand out of Andromeda's grasp and stormed out.

"Narcissa! Narcis–" Andromeda called after her retreating figure. When her younger sister didn't slow, she sent an apologetic look at Ted before running after her sister.

As she raced after her sister, one thought ran through her head. Everything was over. Her secret was out. Her world was crashing around her. Her family would doubtless disown her. Her name would be blasted off the family tapestry, burned to a scorch mark.

When she realized she couldn't catch up with Narcissa, Andromeda slowed. Her heart clenched, and she let out a sob.

.oOo.

Andromeda hadn't slept at all that night. She couldn't get the image of Narcissa's fleeing form from her head. When it had come time for breakfast, she had walked into the Great Hall as if she were going to her death, knowing she would face the accusations and stares of her entire House. Their judgement would certainly be as bad as their inquisitive stares. Unable to even glance at her housemates, she sat down at her customary place, where she discovered another note.

What is Ted playing at? she thought incredulously. We've already been found out. We can't risk meeting again! As she stuffed the note back in her bag, she resisted the urge to find Ted's eyes at the Hufflepuff table. Instead, she peeked sideways through a curtain of her own hair at Bellatrix. Strangely enough, her sister wasn't acting any different than usual– she was as haughty, condescending, and confident as ever. She gave no sign of anything being out of the ordinary. No glares were sent Andromeda's way, no sniffs of disapproval. Everyone at the Slytherin table, indeed in the Great Hall, acted perfectly normal. Except for one person. Narcissa. Her eyes were looking straight through her with blazing intensity. Had her younger sister kept quiet?

As if in answer to Andromeda's unspoken question, Narcissa lifted her head and stared straight at her older sister. She nodded once, then returned to staring at her plate.

Andromeda looked down at the crumpled note in her bag. She took it out, smoothing out the creases against her leg. On it were two check-boxes, one with the word "yes" and the other with "no". Smiling to herself, Andromeda checked the "yes" box. Then, with another tap of her wand, the note vanished.

She looked up to see Narcissa looking at her again, but this time, instead of being consumed by guilt, Andromeda felt relief. One of her sisters knew her secret. It was as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders.

"Thank you," she murmured over her housemates' chatter.


	35. Autumn

**A/N: This story was written for Slytherin house in the Houses Competition round 8 as a drabble using the prompt autumn/fall. Enjoy!**

 **Word count (not including A/N): 704**

Severus Snape used to like autumn– he would get to go back to Hogwarts, away from his abusive father and neglecting mother, and even though he was bullied at school, it was better than "home", because he would get to see Lily. Besides, autumn was pretty (though he would never admit it). The leaves were red and orange and gold, kind of like Lily's hair in the sunlight, and the air was just the right temperature. Autumn was crisp mornings and long walks alone.

Until eleven years ago. He had stupidly joined the Death Eaters in sixth year, and by 1981, he had the Dark Lord's full trust. The fact that Lily had actually had a child with James Potter still stung, and he had just wanted to do something. Trelawney's prophecy seemed like a perfect way to vent his frustration, and what better way to do that than with this vital information?

He had realized his mistake. Snape cringed behind his sneering facade as he remembered himself running away and crying to Dumbledore, begging for him to protect and spare Lily. He allowed himself to be used, switching sides for Lily, but in the end, Dumbledore did nothing. She had died.

But nobody cared. All that mattered was that Voldemort was gone, and that the son, the Boy-Who-Lived, had, well... lived. Snape was inexplicably angry at the toddler. It wasn't fair that he got to survive and Lily didn't! Snape had given up everything to ensure Lily's safety, and the boy had the audacity to come out of the attack unscathed!

But the only thing Snape could do now was to ensure that the tiny piece of Lily left on the earth, her sacrifice, however connected to James Potter, was kept safe.

Now, as a teacher, autumn (and winter and spring) meant children. Snape despised children, teaching them even more so. But he had to remain close to Dumbledore, even if the man had talked him into this position in the first place. Summer, once his least favorite season, became his sanctuary, when he didn't have to deal with homework and grading and detentions and exploding cauldrons. Fall, once his refuge from the Muggle world, became a source of dread and apprehension, when he would be introduced to yet another group of pests that he would have to teach for yet another seven years. After his fifth year of teaching, the students all just blended together. It's all for Lily, all for her son, was his mantra throughout the long years of waiting until the Potter child actually came to Hogwarts.

But when Potter did come, it was like a smack in the face. Here was the living proof of Lily's marriage, and Snape was so filled with loathing he could not think. He was determined not to let this boy, who looked painfully like his childhood tormentor, get under his defenses, no matter what he had promised Dumbledore or why he became a teacher. As the weeks went on, Snape was unforgiving and biased, but he didn't care– this was his way of venting everything James Potter had ever done to him. A flicker of guilt lived in the back of his brain, but he pushed it aside.

The only bright spot on the Halloween day was that he didn't have first year Gryffindors. He only had one class (fourth year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws) and then he would be free to mourn in peace until the feast.

Sitting in his office, drinking mead and reminiscing about the few good childhood memories he had, the guilt in Severus' mind grew and grew. She's gone, he repeated to himself. She's gone because of you, because of that stupid prophecy. What are you doing teaching here? A lone tear made its way down his prominent nose.

The clock on the wall chimed. He stood up, hastily putting away his mead and wiping his face to make sure there was no evidence of his crying, and made his way to the feast.

.oOo.

Staring at the wreckage of the girls' bathroom, at the water covering the floor, at the mountain troll on the floor, Snape realized why he became a teacher. I have to protect this boy.


	36. Chapter 36

**A/N: This story was written for Slytherin house in the Houses Competition round 8 as a themed story using the prompt assault course. Enjoy!**

 **Word count (not including A/N): 1,807**

"To give you a break from sitting in desks, your exam is going to be a bit more practical," Professor Lupin said with a smile. None of his third year Slytherins smiled back. "For your exam, you will be going through an assault course!" Now a few students seemed interested.

"You will be facing many of the creatures we've covered in class, and will be expected to defend yourself against them to proceed to the end of the course. Any questions? And no, Ms. Parkinson, I cannot disclose what creatures you will be facing– that would be cheating." He smiled. "Follow me to the site."

He stood up and walked out the door, the scraping of ten chairs against the floor and the patter of twenty feet on the stone hallway following him. As Professor Lupin led them through the Hogwarts grounds, Draco smirked to himself.

"This is gonna be so easy," he bragged to Crabbe and Goyle. "Honestly, all we have to do is get past some stupid creatures? After that stupid oaf Hagrid's pathetic hippogriff, this'll be nothing."

"A pathetic hippogriff that apparently put you in a sling for a month, Mr. Malfoy. And 15 points from Slytherin for insulting a teacher," Professor Lupin said firmly, his voice carrying loudly for the whole group to hear.

How could he have heard me? Draco thought furiously as Blaise Zabini, who was right behind him, chuckled. Draco turned around and sent him a death glare, his face turning pink.

Finally, the group came to a spot next to the Black Lake. If you looked closely, there was a shimmery quality to the air within a 100-meter stretch. Professor Lupin steered the third years around it.

"Where's the assault course?" Goyle asked rudely.

"Right there." Professor Lupin pointed to the shimmery air. "You'll enter one at a time, by alphabetical order of last names, and enter the course. The Disillusionment charms around the area will prevent you from seeing the course until you enter it. I, and only I, am able to see it, and I will track your progress as you advance through the course. You will be graded on recognition of the creatures, keeping a level head, how long it takes you to get through the assault course, and how well you perform against the obstacles. If you feel you are in danger or are unable to continue–" Like that'll ever happen, Draco thought derisively. "– you need only send up red sparks with your wand or give a shout. Now, any questions before we start? No? Alright, the first person is Millicent Bulstrode, and if any of you leave this spot–" he drew a sizeable red circle around the group with his wand "– you will receive a T. Clear?" The third years nodded. "Very well. Ms. Bulstrode, if you would please follow me." He beckoned with his hand and led her to the starting point. Then, the exams began.

It was a very odd experience watching people go through the course. The Slytherins who waited in the red circle were able to see the person going through the course and snatches of the outlines of some obstacles or creatures if they concentrated, but that was all. Draco observed very closely, trying to catch a glimpse of what he would be facing beforehand. It was very amusing, Draco thought, to watch his classmates run, climb, get lost, shriek in fear, wildly curse and hex, and generally struggle through the course. That is, until Draco remembered that he'd be facing the same things in just a few minutes.

As he went over strategy after strategy in his head, always keeping his bored facade, it grew ever closer to his turn. Soon, Morag MacDougal was called, and he would be next. Lucky Blaise, Draco thought bitterly. He gets to go last.

In his worry, Draco had not noticed Pansy Parkinson, his annoying, cloying, not-so-subtle classmate sneaking up behind him. "It's almost your turn, Draco – How do you think you're going to do,? I bet you'll do amaaaazing," she said breathily, twirling her hair around her finger rather obviously. Draco rolled his eyes, but Parkinson did not take the hint.

He disguised his snort of laughter (Malfoys did not snort) with a scoff as the girl bit her lip. "Of course I will," he said dismissively. Luckily, Lupin called him over at that exact moment, so he was able to stalk away with all of his usual swagger. "Good luck!" he heard Pansy called in the distance, and he was torn between exasperation and amusement. She will never get over me, he thought to himself.

"Are you ready, Draco?" Professor Lupin asked. All of Draco's worries came back, but he answered, "Yes, sir" in a tight, clipped tone and stood with his shoulders squared. They may not be Gryffindors, but Malfoys never showed fear or weakness.

The first thing he saw was a pool. He could see no way around it without going outside of the area of the course. Peering into it towards the bottom, he saw that it was rather deep, with some gross-looking water plants lurking in the banks, holding who knew what creatures. Trying to remember the water creatures unit they had done in November under the pressure of time was not easy. There was nothing for it– Draco waded in.

The water was not warm, and it seeped into his robes and soaked his uniform. Ugh, there go my favorite silk socks, Draco thought annoyedly. He grimaced as he walked forward, into ever-deeper water, until it went up to his chest and stayed there. The kelps and seaweeds and Merlin knew what else swirled around his feet uncomfortably as he continued slowly, wand at the ready. He was almost to the other shore when the water near his knees rippled and something grabbed his leg.

Draco yelped and looked down. A sickly, pale green creature with sharp teeth, tiny horns, and tentacles gripped his leg tightly, cutting off his circulation, with long, thin fingers. He could feel its sharp claws cutting through his pant leg and into his skin. An image of a grindylow in a tank in one of their lessons came to mind, and Draco remembered the correct spell: the Revulsion Jinx. The red jet of light boiled the water around it, and the grindylow hissed in pain as it let go of Draco's shin. The third year ran to the other end of the shore, sopping wet and more than a little shaken. Knowing that his classmates were watching (and probably making fun of him right now), he stood proudly and continued.

All of the odd behaviors Draco had witnessed his classmates perform in the assault course began to make sense. He danced around potholes full of Red Caps that tried to bludgeon him to death, gaining many bruises along the way, and he wandered blindly all the way to the edge of a muddy marsh that ruined his dress shoes, following the directions of a deceptive hinkypunk, for seven minutes before hitting it with a Knockback Jinx and continuing in the right direction. He became more confident as he went on, until he swaggered with every bit of his Malfoy confidence to – an old tree trunk.

Draco was confused. They hadn't learned about a creature that looked like a tree. Absurdly, the image of Crabbe struggling his fat body through something in the course and Draco, Goyle Pansy, and Blaise in hysterics in the background came to mind. The answer came to him: he had to climb into the tree.

He groaned, but awkwardly lifted his leg and placed it through the hole anyway, scraping his inner thigh against the rough bark. He ducked his head under and pulled his other leg through. Draco turned around, dusting himself off irritatedly. What he saw in front of him made him drop his wand.

Lucius Malfoy stepped out of the gloom, cane thudding ominously on the floor, eyes blazing.

Draco backed away, forgetting all about the exam, the grindylows, Red caps, and hinkypunks, his friends, Professor Lupin, everything. His body was on autopilot, because his mind was only focused on one thing– get away.

"Draco, where do you think you are going?" His father's voice was soft, but commanding and intimidating, chilling Draco to the bone and rooting him to the spot. "Get over here." He obeyed as easily as if under the Imperius Curse.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, having no idea what he was apologizing for.

"Sorry doesn't matter any more. Not after what you've done." His father's words pierced Draco like a red-hot knife, even though they were cold as ice.

"I-I don't know what I've done– I'm sorry– please–" His father's cane came down on his face, smacking his face to one side and back to face him so fast Draco felt the whiplash in his neck.

"You betrayed me. You are disgusting, lower than the lowest House Elf. You are no Malfoy–"

"Father, please," Draco begged.

Lucius Malfoy continued on as if Draco had not spoken. "You are no son, no heir, of mine; you will no longer call me Father. I am... extremely disappointed." Draco's knees buckled as he slid to the floor, his face as white as a sheet.

"You are disowned."

"No, no, I can't be! Father, please–"

The cane made contact with the boy's face again. "I told you, you are no son of mine!" His father's voice got louder, his nostrils flared.

"What you have done is unforgivable."

Draco buried his face in his knees, tears flowing in earnest now, the salt burning the two red welts on his face. As Lucius Malfoy drew his wand from the inside of his cane by the snake-head handle, Draco waited for the onslaught of pain.

But it never came.

Draco dared to look up, and found that his father had transformed into… the moon? He turned his head to see Professor Lupin, aiming his wand at the boggart.

It was a boggart, he berated himself. Draco felt his face getting extremely red, not from pain this time, but from embarrassment, as he heard Lupin dispel the boggart with a "ridikkulus".

The professor then turned to him and crouched down. He spoke softly, as if talking to a small, pitiful child. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Draco huffed, standing up shakily and wiping his face. Professor Lupin graciously ignored his tears.

"Would you like me, or one of your comrades, to escort you to the hospital wing?"

"I can go myself," Draco snapped. He walked briskly out of the assault course and towards the castle with his head held high, ignoring the stares from his classmates.

He was a Malfoy, no matter what the Boggart-Lucius had said, and Malfoys never showed weakness. Never.


	37. Stone Cold Axe

**A/N: This story was written for Slytherin house in the Houses Competition round 9 as a story story using the prompt "He was in a room with no windows and a locked door." Enjoy!**

 **Word count (not including A/N): 2,511**

 **Stone Cold Axe**

October 30, 1492

Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington strolled out of King Henry VII's royal court feeling quite satisfied with himself. He had just provided vital information to the treatment of smallpox (diluted Romanian Longhorn venom killed off much of the ever-growing virus cells in the person's body). He had gotten quite a large sum of money for the twelve vials of venom that he owned, and the Muggle monarch need never know it was dragon venom! He would make a bounteous profit indeed.

He jingled the Muggle money in his pocket as he walked to a place to Disapparate. Turning on the spot, Sir Nicholas disappeared from thin air with a loud pop.

Reappearing in his large villa, the courtier was immediately surrounded by House Elves. Cobry, his butler, removed his coat, revealing an oversized ruff that covered his neck entirely, an embroidered shirt with puffy sleeves, and poofy, pleated pants. He placed the bag of money in the waiting arms of another elf, Wismy, without looking down and walked briskly up to his private chambers.

In his large marble bathroom, Sir Nicholas examined his reflection in the mirror. He snatched up a comb and fixed his part. "Zobsey!" he barked.

The elf was at his side at once with a crack. She bowed deeply and squeaked, "You called, Master?"

"Bring me my hat– the large one with the wide brim– at once," he ordered.

"It shall be done, Sir." Zobsey bowed and disappeared with another crack. A moment later, yet another crack sounded, and Sir Nicholas turned to find his hat on the floor. He opened his mouth to punish the elf who dared place his hat on the filthy floor when the hat moved.

"Master?" Zobsey's voice asked. Sir Nicholas swiftly bent down to pick up the hat, and underneath he found the elf looking around confusedly– it had fallen on top of her and covered her body completely.

He rolled his eyes, muttering, "Stupid elf," and placed the hat precariously on his hair in exactly the right position.

"I will be out for a time. Make sure my money is safely in my vault and supper ready when I return. Is that clear?"

"Yes, Sir." The elf bowed so low her ears touched the floor, then disappeared with one last crack.

Sir Nicholas went downstairs into the foyer again, barking, "My coat!" It was immediately brought to him and slipped on by small fingers. With a pop, Sir Nicholas disappeared once more. The House Elves collectively breathed a sigh of relief and hurried off to the kitchen to make a supper that would never be eaten.

.oOo.

Strolling in the community park, trying not to look as though he was looking for someone, Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington paced up and down. Then, almost as if on cue, a beautiful lady with a gap in her teeth rounded a corner– Lady Grieve.

Lady Grieve was the most coveted woman in the country. She was rich and beautiful in every way– except for her teeth. Only a week ago, she had been in a carriage accident and one of her teeth had been knocked out. She had gone to a wizard named Agrippa to provide her with a false one of ivory, but it was too small to completely fill the gap. She would now suffer this mar in her envied beauty for the rest of her life.

"Lady Grieve!" Sir Nicholas called out.

She turned haughtily, however, her expression softened at the sight of Sir Nicholas. "Sir Nicholas! What a coincidence! Haven't you just been at the King's court?"

"Indeed," he replied.

"I was only there but a moment ago to get this infernal gap between my front teeth closed once and for all! Unfortunately, ruler though he is, he does not seem to have any magical means of assistance." Her expression turned disdainful and unhappy again. "Can no one give me aid?"

"Allow me!"

Lady Grieve looked taken aback. "You, sir?"

"Why, yes, me! You see, I have many magical abilities, one of which includes a spell that shall join your teeth in a heartbeat!"

"Do you?" He nodded. Lady Grieve seemed to struggle with herself to come to a decision. Finally, she conceded. "Very well," she said. "What must I do?"

"Only stand there and allow me to do all the work." Sir Nicholas drew his wand from inside his coat and pointed it firmly at the woman's mouth. By now, a small gathering of people had come to see the spectacle.

"Now, what's the spell, what's the spell..." he muttered to himself. "Ah! Yes! I will say the incantation after a count of three, Lady Grieve, and your teeth shall be mended at once! Are you ready now?" She nodded stiffly. "Fear not, the spell isn't painful. Ready! One, two three– alargado!"

A yellow jet of light shot out of the end of the wood, hitting the lady squarely in the mouth. She immediately bent over, clutching her mouth in a muffled scream. A man ran forward to help her sit on a bench.

"I thought you said it wouldn't be painful!" she cried.

"It's not supposed to be," Sir Nicholas said, perplexed.

His curiosity turned to horror, however, when a shriek, not just from Lady Grieve, but from all the women in the square, pierced his ear: two tusks were sprouting from under Lady Grieve's lip!

Exclamations of disgust and fright came from the people surrounding Lady Grieve and Sir Nicholas became increasingly angry. "Put her right!" someone shouted.

"Very well, very well," Sir Nicholas said nervously, pulling at his ruff. "Not to worry, it's an easy fix." He pulled out his wand again and aimed–

"GET DAT AVAY FUM ME!" Lady Grieve shrieked, struggling to speak through her tusks. "YOU DID VIF TO ME! YOU WILL PAY! FEEVE HIM!"

The crowd lurched forward, grabbing Sir Nicholas by the underarms and lifting him from the ground. His hat fell into the crowd, along with his wand, as two people grabbed his feet. The crowd carried him to Lady Grieve's carriage and bound him to the top. He struggled there like a floundering fish as people made way for Lady Grieve. As the Lady got into the carriage and was driven away, she yelled out the window, "HE IV TO BE EGVECUTED! TOMOWOW NIGHT!" A roar went through the crowd, and Sir Nicholas fainted dead away.

.oOo.

He was in a room with no windows and a locked door– a prison. Lady Grieve's dungeon, to be exact. Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington had 18 hours to live.

Sir Nicholas had tried to preserve his dignity, refusing to plead; after all, he was a graduate of Gryffindor House. Gryffindors were fearless, courageous– but he, alas, was not. His one true fear throughout his life was what he faced now– death. Eventually, he had cracked, banging, screaming, pleading, promising riches and compensation for his mistake, but nothing worked. Without his wand, he was powerless.

Suddenly, Sir Nicholas heard footsteps walking down the cobbled, underground corridor that housed the dungeon cells. The footsteps stopped right outside his door, and the guard asked, "Any news?"

"Another mage has been summoned, by the name of Ptolemy" he heard the other guard say, "and Lady Grieve is of the hope he can mend her teeth."

"I have not heard of any mages so skilled– pack of crazy fools," the other guard said, scoffing. Sir Nicholas huffed.

"He will receive a bounteous sum of gold and renown through the land in return– if he succeeds."

"As if."

"Listen here– if Lady Grieve is not healed by the end of this week, she will get angry. You know what she's like in a temper, and I suspect you would be happier staying in her good graces." Sir Nicholas didn't have to see thm to know the first guard was paling. Lady Grieve's punishments for her servants were known and feared– it was well-known that she had a stack of ancient carpets she had received from a foreign sultan to replace the ones she ruined with bloodstains.

"The prisoner is to be executed at eleven sharp– just keep your mouth shut until then." The guard walked off, leaving his companion at his post.

Sir Nicholas shook his head in disbelief, defeated. If Lady Grieve had already called another mage, Agrippa, the most practiced wizard in all of Britain no less, there was no possibility of him ever mending her. He laid down on the hard, cold floor and resigned himself to a sleepless last night.

.oOo.

"Get up, mage." Sir Nicholas was woken to someone hauling him roughly to his feet. He scrambled up, blearily looking wildly around. A guard with large bags under his eyes and a snarl on his face drew a sword from his scabbard. "I've been up all night guarding your cell just so that Lady Grieve can chop your head off, so get moving," he growled. Sir Nicholas was frozen in fear. This was it. He was going to be executed.

"Oi! I said, let's get moving, mage." The guard spat the word as if it was dirty and dug the point of his sword into Sir Nicholas' side. At the threat, Sit Nicholas' legs began moving automatically. He followed the directions the guard grunted out slowly, down the corridor, up the stairs, into the Executioner's Square. Sir Nicholas had to squint as the glare of the sun hit him for the first time in 24 hours. When he was finally able to open his eyes fully, he saw a cobbled square with gallows, a large, flat stone with a coil of rope next to it, and an array of blades on a rack on the edge of the square. Raised benches surrounded the space, enough to seat an entire royal court, but only Lady Grieve, her tusks covered with a fashionable mask, and her senior attendants were present. Even so, it was enough to make Sir Nicholas' knees go wobbly.

He was forced up to the flat stone, where he was bent over and tied down, the edge digging painfully into his stomach. His cheek was forced onto the rough grain, so that his head was turned sideways. Lady Grieve waved at him from the pews.

As the small crowd waited for the executioner to sharpen his axe and step to the block, Sir Nicholas was panicking.

This is it. Thus ends the life of Sir Nicholas, he thought. What a way to go! Executed for giving a Lady tusks! Not exactly the noble battle he'd imagined in the past or the peaceful departure in his sleep. What would it be like to die? Would he enter heaven, or some other form of afterlife? Would there be God or deity to greet him and welcome him, or would he descend into a hellish dimension? Would he even have a conscience, or would he float away, without a trace of remembrance of his time on earth? Would he know of the happenings of earth, or would he sever all ties with the mortal world completely? Did dead people interact with one another, or was one alone for eternity? Sir Nicholas was left to fearfully ponder these mysteries. He tried not to sob.

After a long while, Sir Nicholas was jolted out of his fevered queries when the voice of Lady Grieve rang out. "Where iv Doyle?"

A long pause stretched out, the servants to frightened to answer. "He has misplaced his whetstone, Madame," a small stable boy finally reported shakily.

"The fool!" she cried. "Diff infuffewable mage muft be egvecuted today!" She screamed around her tusks, and then she ordered the stable boy to bring the executioner, Doyle, and his axe at once. The stable boy took off at once, terror etched on his face, and while she waited, the Lady paced up and down the edge of the square furiously.

When the stable boy returned, now with a short, balding, extremely pale man holding a large battle-axe that surely would have made Sir Nicholas collapse had he not been tied down, Lady Grieve stopped and unleashed her fury.

"How dare you miffplafe your vetftone?! Thiv bwunt axe iv uffleff now! Do you know how wong it vill take to–" She stopped her tirade abruptly. Doyle, who had been shrinking steadily back from her, winced as if ready for her to go in for the kill. Instead, though her face was covered, the cloth hitched up and her eyes glittered: she smiled.

"Profeed."

"I-I'm sorry, my Lady?"

"I faid uve the axe, Doyle."

"But my lady, it is blunt, useless, I will positively butcher–" His eyes widened in realization at the same time as Sir Nicholas'.

"Egvactly."

Doyle gulped. "Yes, my Lady."

Sir Nicholas was truly panicking now, Gryffindor pride and bravery forgotten. "My Lady, please– can't we wait one more day, I mean, what's it to you? I mean– My Lady, please, if you'll allow me– I can mend your tusks– I mean, your face– please, Lady! I didn't mean any harm!" He turned to Doyle. "Please, sir, don't do this– please!"

"Get on wif it!"

Doyle glanced fearfully back at Lady Grieve and made his decision. He turned back apologetically to Sir Nicholas. "This may sting a bit."

The last thing Sir Nicholas saw before he closed his eyes was the the blade's dull glint in the blinding sun.

Then the axe demolished his throat. He screamed, a horrible, tortured, shrieking wail. He supposed that meant he hurt, but he didn't feel a thing. Thwack– first his skin was pierced, then his windpipe– another thwack– the rest of his windpipe was smashed and then his esophagus. It took a few thwacks for the pain to really set in. Blood spurted all around, covering him and Doyle, and Sir Nicholas tried to scream, to release some of the agony he now felt, but only a gurgling noise issued from his throat, though he supposed he didn't really have a throat anymore.

"Won't be too long," Doyle assured him, and swung the axe again. Sir Nicholas didn't see the attendants cringing and turning away, some going green in the face, but instead he fell into a rhythm– thwack, more pain, more screaming, thwack, more screaming, more pain…

Eventually, Sir Nicholas was more of an observer than anything else. He vaguely supposed that this was his soul leaving his body, but he was half in his body, experiencing the pain, and half out, surveying the scene with mild interest. He counted the thwacks: 14, 15, 16, 17…

Doyle got all the way up to 30, and still a bit of his spine, some sinew, and skin kept his head attached to his body. The axe must have been extremely dull, and the axeman was persevering only for the Lady's pleasure, because he certainly was not making headway anymore.

After 45 thwacks, Sir Nicholas was recalled to his body for the last time. His last, preposterous thought was: I don't want to die.


	38. The Potter Cat

**A/N: This story was written for Slytherin house in the Houses Competition round 9 as a themed story using the prompt Diagon Alley. Enjoy!**

 **Word count (not including A/N): 4,631**

 **The Potter Cat**

Godric curled up in the Handsome-Man's lap, breathing in his scent. He smelled like gasoline and cologne and his hand felt nice as he stroked Godric's back. He stared at the Short-Man, who was talking to Tall-Man and Red-Haired-Lady. Godric smelled something distinctly rat-like and untrustworthy about Short-Man.

"Peter, we need to ask you something," Red-Haired-Lady told Short-Man. "A favor, actually."

"What do you need?" Short-Man asked. Godric could smell the sweat coming off him in waves. Sweaty humans were lying humans.

"Well, there's no easy way to say this," Tall-Man said. "But, Peter, we need to change Secret Keepers."

"W-why? I thought Sirius was your Secret Keeper," he asked.

"I'm too obvious," Handsome-Man said. "No offense, but me and James were the closest out of the four of us. How easy would it be for a Death Eater to guess that I would be the friend James entrusted this secret to?"

"But, me and Lily know that you are just as reliable, and we trust you just as much," Tall-Man said. Godric hissed under his breath.

"So," Red-Haired-Lady said, "We want you to be the Secret Keeper."

The silence hung in the air as Short-Man processed this. His eyes became big and round. "M-me?"

"Yes," Tall-Man said. "We wouldn't tell anyone about the switch– the only people who would know are me, Lily, Sirius, you, Dumbledore, and eventually Harry."

"I would serve as a diversion in case anyone tried to obtain the Secret," Handsome-Man explained. "This way, I'm the first target and James, Lily and Harry will have time to evacuate before someone finds them out."

"We know that it's a big risk, putting you in this position," Red-Haired-Lady said. "But we'd really appreciate it and we think it's what's best."

"It's a good plan," Tall-Man agreed. "So, Peter, will you be our Secret Keeper?"

"I'd be honored," Small-Man said. This time, Godric smelled overwhelming glee.

.oOo.

Godric hopped up onto the sofa as the Tall-Man made smoke come out of his magic stick while the Small-Human laughed. It was very pretty smoke, all different colors, like red and blue and orange and even purple! Godric reached out to touch it. His paw fell down unexpectedly as it slid through the air, and he fell on his face. Tall-Man and the Small-Human laughed at his expense. Godric sniffed and haughtily jumped off the couch, offended.

As he was about to exit, Red-Haired-Lady stepped through the door. "It's time for bed, boys," she said softly, smiling at their antics.

"Alright, buddy, you heard your mother, let's get you into bed," Tall-Man said as he lifted Small-Human, leaving his magic stick on the couch. Red-Haired-Lady took Small-Human from Tall-Man and they walked to the room Small-Human slept in, both singing softly. Godric followed, waiting until Small-Human was placed in his bed-with-bars to curl up next to him. Soon, both baby and cat fell asleep.

Godric awoke with a start five minutes later as he heard a bang. He smelled a new, very evil human who was not entirely human. "Lily, it's Him! Take Harry and run!" Tall-Man's voice shouted through the house.

"James!" Red-Haired-Lady called.

"Go! Get out of here! I'll hold him off!"

Godric ran out of the room. As he hurried down the stairs, an even louder bang sounded and a flash of green light illuminated the dark house for a second. Red-Haired-Lady hurried past him towards the room with the bed-with-bars.

Godric got a whiff of death before he had to flatten himself against the wall. The human-who-was-not-quite-human who smelled very evil walked past him, cold, pale, and barefoot. Godric could tell It wanted to hurt his Humans. I must protect Red-Haired-Lady and Small-Human, he thought as he followed the evil thing up the stairs.

It entered the room with the bed-with-bars. Godric crouched outside the door, ready to strike when It returned. He could hear Small-Human crying and Red-Haired-Lady screaming.

"No, not Harry! Please, not Harry! Take me, kill me instead!"

"Stand aside, silly girl," It said. "Stand aside, now..."

"No!"

"I said step aside, girl!"

"Not Harry! Please, have mercy!"

Godric heard a laugh. "Avada Kedavra!" Another flash of green light and a thud. Godric smelled death again.

It was quiet except for Small-Human's wails. One last "Avada Kedavra!", but Godric didn't smell death again. A horrible, blood-curdling shriek filled his ears before he was blasted back by the explosion.

.oOo.

Godric looked up, shaking his woozy head. Over the stench of burning wood, rubber and death, he smelled something familiar– Handsome-Man. Godric got up quickly, ignoring his sore muscles, and scurried and hopped over the rubble towards him.

Handsome-Man was bent beside Tall-Man, who Godric supposed the dead smell was coming from. Handsome-Man had water coming out of his eyes and he was making sounds quite like Small-Human did every night. "PETER!" he roared suddenly, seething in rage and grief.

A loud cry sounded from the second floor of the house, where the bed-with-bars had been. Handsome-Man and Godric looked up. Handsome-Man vanished and a huge, black dog appeared in his place, though the dog still had the same scent. Godric followed the dog as it bounded ahead up the rubble with surprising speed. When Godric got to the top, Handsome-Man was cradling Small-Human in his arms, water streaming steadily out of his eyes as Small-Human asked, "Pa'foo'? Where Mama? Where Dada?"

A flash of light split the night. Handsome-Man and Godric were in action at once, sprinting to protect Small-Human from the thing that had disturbed them. When Handsome-Man saw who was at the front of the house, gaping at the rubble and the hole in the second floor, he relaxed; Godric, however, tensed up at once.

The Giant-Man was just that– giant: twice as tall as even Tall-Man and three times as wide, with hair obscuring his face except for his cheeks and beetle black eyes.

"Hagrid," Handsome-Man greeted him, wiping his face. "I-I heard you portkey here. What're you doing here?"

"'M on Dumbledore's orders. Supposed ter take Harry–"

"I'm Harry's godfather," Handsome-Man said, the anger coming off him in waves.

"Yes, but he's s'pposed ter live with his Aunt and Uncle now."

"I have legal custody of him," Handsome Man hissed.

"Sirius–" Giant-Man stuttered. "Y-you're on'y 21– you won't know how ter take care of a baby–"

"J– Harry's parents were 21 and they were doing just fine!"

"Yes, but– Sirius, be reasonable. They already have a baby boy, so they'll know how to take care of Harry here. And it's Dumbledore! You trust Dumbledore! Don't you?"

Handsome-Man was very quiet for a long time. Then, slowly, he handed Small-Human to Giant-Man!

He walked over to the street and picked up a fallen, two-wheeled, vehicle, and brought it over to Giant-Man and Small-Human. "Take my motorcycle," he told Giant-Man quietly. "I won't need it anymore."

"Where are you going?" Giant-Man asked.

Handsome-Man shrugged, but Godric could see a decision being made in his eyes.

"Well," Giant-Man mounted the two-wheeled vehicle. "Thanks for the motorcycle, Sirius. It…it'll be alright," he finished awkwardly. Suddenly, a loud roaring like that of a great beast issued from the two-wheeled vehicle. Godric ran from the threat through the town as far as he could, leaving Handsome-Man, Giant-Man, his family, and his home behind.

.oOo.

Running away had been a mistake. Godric's stomach was constantly rumbling, the result of going days without food. Luckily, the rainy weather provided him with just enough water, but he dearly missed his warm bed in the cozy cottage– and he especially missed Small-Human, Tall-Man, Red-Haired-Lady, and Handsome-Man.

Eventually, he had made his way under the ground, where huge, long metal tubes with lots of humans in them thundered scarily through every few minutes. No matter how loud he yowled, no one gave him anything. Some days the hunger and lack of attention made him restless, and other times, Godric just gave in to the fatigue.

It was on one of those restless days, when Godric was willing to do anything, when it happened. He hopped onto a huge, long metal Tube.

Godric still wasn't quite sure how it happened– he had seen the Tube open, and the next thing he knew, his body was working independently of his mind and he had woven around the humans' legs and cleared the gap between the Tube and the ground. As he slid into the Tube, it had closed and he was trapped.

Immediately, the Tube began to move. Godric dug his nails into the floor to prevent from sliding backwards, which only added to the horrible screeching sound as the Tube picked up speed. Once Godric regained his balance, he ran shakily under a long seat where many humans sat together. Crouching and finding comfort in the enclosed space, Godric peeked through the humans' legs to try to smell someone friendly. Maybe he would even find Handsome-Man! He began sniffing.

Soon his nose led him not to Handsome-Man, but to the familiar smell of food– real food, not human food. He walked under the long chair until he was directly across from the scent. It was coming from a paper bag. Godric pounced.

Many lady-humans screeched as he darted out unexpectedly and ripped open the bag. But instead of finding food, Godric found many thick, metal disks with pictures of other cats on them. He was started as he felt a cold hand slide underneath his stomach.

"Well, hello there," a lady-human said. Godric flailed, but the lady-human seemed to have experience holding struggling cats, and she kept a firm hold on him. Godric felt his feet leave the floor as he rose up to be eye-level with a lady-human with frizzy, gray, flyaway hair. "Aren't you a pretty kitty," she cooed. "Oh, you're so thin! You must be hungry." And, to Godric's delight, she opened one of the metal disks and there was food inside it! He attacked, gobbling up the food in a matter of seconds.

"You don't have anywhere to go, do you?" Food-Lady asked. He shook his head. "No, you don't." She seemed to think for a minute, ignoring the stares from the other humans. She began to turn him around in her hands, examining him. "I can't take another one in, not with Snowy, Tufty, Mr. Paws, and Mr. Tibbles. You'll get a good enough price at the Menagerie," she said. "I can bring you there. They have a lot of other kitties and they'll take good care of you. Yes, that's what I'll do. I was on on my way to town anyway."

After many long minutes, in which Godric was put down, ate another disk of food, and relieved himself in the Food-Lady's bag (she either didn't notice or didn't mind), Food-Lady picked him up again and exited the Tube with ease. She climbed the stairs, hobbling a little as she went, and emerged outside into a bustling street filled with even more humans than the Tube place! There was a lot of noise and many metal things that went clattering and honking down the middle of the space between buildings. This wasn't a safe place. Godric squirmed against Food-Lady's grip, but she held him fast. Eventually, Godric and Food-Lady made it to a dark, squat building that reeked of alcohol.

There were more humans in here, almost all of them with a cup full, from what Godric could smell, of alcoholic liquids. Some were not functioning properly, walking slower or off-balance, and a large group of man-humans with magic sticks sang boisterously in the corner. A short, bald man-human was standing behind a tall table, cleaning a cup with a well-worn cloth.

"Tom, do you mind–?" Food-Lady asked the Bald-Human, pointing towards the back door as her cheeks flushed. Bald-Man nodded slowly, stooping through the back door. Food-Lady followed him through to a bare room. Bald-Man drew a magic stick from inside his clothes and tapped a section of the wall. It began moving of its own accord. Godric hissed at it. Eventually the wall was not a wall at all– rather an archway that led to yet another place filled with humans. Food-Lady thanked Bald-Man and stepped through the archway.

There were even more humans here, dressed in loose flowy clothing this time though, rather than the tight-fitting suits the humans on the Tube wore, and most of them, including some Small-Humans, had magic sticks, though Food-Lady didn't seem to own one. Buildings with clear walls in the front showed many odd items, like brooms, books, and eyeballs. But Food-Lady hurried past all this, only stopping when she and Godric reached a very noisy building. Inside it, there were animals of all different shapes and kinds: rats and toads and salamanders and snakes and tortoises and birds–all making a range of noises that was highly irritating– and cats. Godric had never seen so many other cats before: tabbies and black cats, white cats and grey cats, brown cats and spotted cats, all in cages that lined the walls of the room.

Food-Lady carried Godric up to the back, where a very fat, balding, watery-eyed human sat staring at a paper with dull eyes. Food-Lady cleared her throat. Fat-Man looked up. "What're you buyin'?"

"I'm selling, actually," Food-Lady informed him.

"Not interested," he said dully.

"Well, you haven't even looked at what I'm offering yet," Food-Lady said agitatedly. "I'd like to sell you this cat." She placed Godric on the table.

Fat-Man looked up and began inspecting him closely. Then he picked him up with rough, harsh, inexperienced hands, and turned him every which way, like Food-Lady had on the Tube.

"Decent," he muttered. "Better'n most've the mutts we get around here. How much?" he asked.

Food-Lady looked taken aback at the change of heart. "Uh– I–" she stammered. She thought for a moment and regained her composure. "Well, for a fine young thing like this, I'd say… 15 galleons."

"15! For this scrawny thing! He'd be 10 at most!"

"I won't accept anything lower than 13," Food-Lady said firmly.

Fat-Man stared her down, hoping she'd be intimidated into lowering the price further. When she didn't let up, he sighed. "Fine," he grumbled. "13 it is… old bat," he muttered under his breath as he turned to a sliding metal box to count out the money. He handed Food-Lady a bag of jingling gold and snatched Godric off the table once again. Muttering about obscene prices and the faults in the economy, he dropped Godric into a high-walled box where he couldn't get out, put newspaper on the bottom of another, smaller box with one wall made of bars. He went over to the wall of other cats, moving the other boxes they were in with a little difficulty, and then placed the freshly newspapered box in the new space. Then, he filld up a tiny bowl with water and another one with dried pellets and placed those in the box as well. Finally, he picked up Godric again and placed him inside the box as well, slamming the barred wall shut. He dusted off his hands and went back to his chair and paper.

Godric mewled, pawing at the door. He didn't like this confined space; Tall-Man and Red-Haired-Lady had always let him run around. He meowed louder, wondering if Fat-Man couldn't hear him. Godric was able to fit one paw through the bars, but nothing else. He meowed even louder.

Would you just shut it? a voice next door asked annoyedly. Some of us are trying to sleep.

Hello? Godric asked. Who are you? Where are you?

I'm next door, genius, the voice said. And I'm Sally.

Godric turned to face a gray, plump cat with yellow eyes. I'm Godric. Sorry for being loud. What is this place?

This place? Sally chuckled morosely. This is the Magical Menagerie.

What do you do here?

Wait, she responded. Wait until you get Chosen.

Chosen?

By a human. I don't know where the lucky cats go, but I hear it's a lot better than this place. All we get to do is eat, poop, and sleep.

That sounds dull, Godric said miserably. How long have you been in here?

Ever since I was a kitten. The human family couldn't take care of me and my mother and my brothers and sisters, so they sent us here. My sister is two rows below me, actually, and my brother is three rows up and two to the left. The others have already been Chosen, Sally finished sadly.

I'm sorry, Godric said. I used to have a human family, but they died. Well, Small Human is still alive, but I don't know where he is now.

Sally was quiet for a moment, and Godric took it as an expression of sympathy. Well, I'm getting back to sleep, she said finally. And so she did– she didn't say another word.

Godric didn't feel much like sleeping, so he turned to his right instead. There was an awfully skinny cat with brown-and-black striped fur who was staring the other way. Hello? Godric asked. The cat didn't reply. After a few more tries, he gave and turned to the bowl of pellets. They smelled vaguely appetizing, if not, edible. He tried one. It was hard to break with his teeth and tasted like cardboard. He missed Food Lady already. Godric sighed, laid down like Sally, and resigned himself to a long, boring next few months.

.oOo.

12 years later

Crookshanks' life had been very boring. There were some new animals that came into the store, like purple toads, orange snails, and a magic rabbit. Other than that, Crookshanks' life was purely routine. Nice Lady, a lady-human who worked at the store with Fat Man, would give him new water and pellets (which he had grown accustomed to by now), then he would be let out to relieve himself. After that, it was back in the cage for the rest of the day until he got to eat again and relieve himself before Nice Lady and Fat Man. Throughout the day, his only activities were talking to Sally, Maggie (the cat above him), and Steve (the Kneazle below him) and sleeping. The cat to his right never talked. Crookshanks' legs had become bandy from crouching in his cage so often (that was how he got his new name– he could hardly remember the name Tall Man and Red-Haired Lady had called him; something with a G?), and he had become big and fat from having no exercise throughout the years.

Visitors came through the doors regularly, but usually it was because they were selling, not buying. Most of the smaller animals got Chosen, but not a lot of cats. Crookshanks supposed it was because of his squashed face that was a result of squashing it into the bars of his cage whenever visitors came in hope of getting Chosen– appearance was a huge part of which animal humans Chose. Crookshanks had long ago given up the hope that a human would ever Choose him.

He yawned lazily, ignoring the tinkle of the bell that sounded whenever the door opened. He sniffed at his water– and caught a whiff of something familiar. Something he hadn't smelled in 12 years. He was a friend of Tall Man and Red-Haired Lady– what was his name again? Not Handsome…

Short Man!

He had been highly mistrustful the last time Crookshanks had seen him, right before Tall Man and Red-Haired Lady died. In fact… Tall Man and Red-Haired Lady had entrusted him with a huge secret... Could it be? Could it be that Short Man had caused Tall Man and Red-Haired Lady's deaths?

It was all coming back to him now…. Everything made sense… Crookshanks saw red.

He turned around suddenly, searching the store for Short Man. All he could see was a man who had entered previously and was gesturing to the double-ended newts, and two small man-humans, one he didn't recognize and had red hair and one of which had messy black hair and– Crookshanks started with a jolt– smelled exactly like Small Human. It had been an awfully long time… Crookshanks didn't know how fast humans grew, but he was pretty sure the time frames fit… could this be Small Human?

If so, he wasn't that small anymore. He was about 6 inches shorter than Tall Human had been, but he had Tall Human's hair and lanky body. But where was Short Man?

The doubled-ended newt man left and the Red-Haired Human and Small Human stepped up to the counter.

"It's my rat," Red-Haired Human told Nice Lady. "He's been a bit off-color ever since I brought him back from Egypt."

"Bang him on the counter," Nice Lady said, drawing out the pair of heavy black spectacles she used for examining animals up close. As Red-Haired Human put the rat on the counter, Crookshanks got a strong whiff of Short Man's scent.

How could that be? He wondered. How could the rat be Short Man? The memory came flooding back to him at once. Handsome Man must have transformed into that dog that climbed up the rubble to get Small Human! Short Man must be able to do the same thing!

Crookshanks started as he realized something. Small Human was in danger! If Short Man really had caused Tall man and Red-Haired Lady's deaths, he would surely go after Small Human too! Crookshanks had to protect him!

Very quietly, though stealth was unnecessary over all the usual noise of the shop, Crookshanks unhinged the latch of the door of his cage. After more than 12 years of use and 12 years of boredom of Crookshanks' part, he had long since learned to unlatch his cage when it was unlocked (most of time), but had only done so in the night to stretch his legs. But now was an emergency!

Nice Lady was showing Red-Haired Human a red bottle and Short Man the Rat was still on the counter. Now was his chance. Crookshanks leant back on his haunches, tensed, and pounced.

He had aimed slightly off, and soon found himself tangled in a mass of red hair. "His back paws found friction against a scalp and he pushed off, landing on the counter. He hissed and spat, lunging at Short Man the Rat– he almost had him–

"NO, CROOKSHANKS, NO!" Nice Lady screamed. She grabbed at Short Man, snatching him off the counter, out of Crookshanks' reach, for one second– but that was all Short Man needed. He slipped out of her hands like a bar of soap and dashed out of the store. Red-Haired Human and Small Human ran after him, and Crookshanks made to follow– until he felt himself being lifted roughly from the counter.

"Bad Crookshanks, very, very bad cat!" Nice Lady yelled. "No dinner for you!" She shoved Crookshanks in his cage and locked the door before Crookshanks could scurry out again. Why doesn't she understand? I need to catch Short Man! Small Human is in danger! He yowled at the door, trying to get Nice Lady to let him out, but when she glared at him, he stopped.

A few minutes later, a very nice-smelling, bushy-haired, dark-skinned lady-human entered the shop. She began looking at the walls, specifically the cat wall. Crookshanks knew that he wouldn't get picked, but something about this lady-human made him unable to resist squashing his face against the cage, hoping he'd get picked.

The lady-human's eyes were scanning his row… she was coming to him… two cages left.. She passed Sally… their eyes locked. The lady-human smiled at Crookshanks and a warmth filled his stomach. She turned away. The warmth retreated.

She was talking to Nice Lady now, pointing towards the cat wall. "How much is that cat?"

"Which one, Robert? Oh, Crookshanks! Him, no one wants him."

"I'd like him," Bushy-Haired Lady persisted.

"I'll give you 9 galleons. But I'll warn you, he can be vicious sometimes. He just attacked a customer who came in here with a rat."

"Did he have red hair, by any chance?"

"Why, yes he did."

"That's my friend, Ron Weasley. He was looking for something for his rat, Scabbers. Do you have anything?"

"Well, there's this rat tonic." Nice Lady put the red bottle, which had been knocked over in the struggle, upright.

"I'll take it. How much?"

"15 sickles."

"Here." Bushy-Haired Lady handed Nice Lady a gold disk. Nice Lady gave her two silver pieces back and the red bottle.

"Oh, and the cat, please." Bushy-Haired Lady smiled, showing large front teeth.

Nice Lady reluctantly went over to the wall and took Crookshanks' cage down. Was he really getting Chosen?

"You'll need to give him water and food twice a day and make sure he has a place to urinate and such. Though he can probably find food for himself; you should've seen how he went after that rat a moment ago. 9 galleons, please." Nice Lady held out her hand.

Bushy-Haired Lady handed Nice Lady 9 more gold disks and took Crookshanks out of his cage. "You're gorgeous. Are you ready to come to Hogwarts with me?" she asked. Crookshanks could only murp in agreement as the warmth filled his stomach again. Bushy-Haired Lady giggled and carried him out of the shop. Crookshanks purred contentedly, ignoring the envious glares from the other cats.

.oOo.

Life with Bushy-Haired Lady was extraordinary compared to the Magical Menagerie. He could run and chase animals, and it turned out that Bushy-Haired Lady, his Human (he finally had a Human!), was around Red-Haired Human, who always smelled strongly of Short Man, and Small Human. He could be with his Human, catch Short Man, and protect Small Human all at once! It was perfect.

His first chance to catch Short Man was three weeks after he'd been Chosen, but he'd let Short Man slip right between his paws! Red-Haired Human was becoming increasingly protective of the rat and Crookshanks liked him less and less.

A week after his failed attempt, Crookshanks was strolling through the grounds, looking for any small rodents to catch before retiring to his Human's room. She had been away with the Red-Haired Human all day and Crookshanks was ready for a nice long cuddle.

He was about to turn back to go inside when he caught a whiff of something familiar– Handsome Man. Crookshanks turned around abruptly, and saw a black dog trying to scurry out of sight. He walked up to it, meowing curiously. Cautiously, Handsome Man the Dog, moved toward him, sniffing. Finally, Handsome Man decided Crookshanks was safe.

Harry? Handsome Man asked.

Crookshanks though hard. His old Humans used to call Small Human Harry as well… With my Human, Crookshanks replied.

Safe?

No, Crookshanks said. Finally, someone who understood. Rat-Man near.

Handsome Man the Dog's eyes widened. I must help.

I can help.

How?

I know where they sleep.

You show me?

Yes.

You help me catch Rat-Man?

Yes. I protect Small Human.

Take me.

Crookshanks led Handsome Man the Dog across the grounds to the castle, thinking about when he had first met Handsome-Man and this whole ordeal started. Handsome-Man, Tall-Man, Red-Haired-Lady, Small-Human, Short-Man, and him had been so happy. How could Short-Man betray everyone like this? The Menagerie had had nice cats, but Crookshanks had never known the love a family like he had with his first family or with his current Human. And to think, Short-Man had been in the open, enjoying the comforts of Red-Haired-Human's home! Short-Man didn't deserve that. Crookshanks had suffered through twelve years in a Menagerie, and Handsome-Man looked like he had suffered too.

But Crookshanks and Handsome-Man were avenging Tall-Man and Red-Haired-Lady now. Short-Man would pay. For everything.


	39. Norbert

**A/N: This story was written for Slytherin house in the Houses Competition round 9 as a themed story using the prompt Durmstrang Institute. Enjoy!**

 **Word count (not including A/N): 4,180**

 _Hey Charlie,_

 _I'm writing from the Gryffindor common room about something that has come up with Hagrid. He's the gamekeeper here at school– oh, Hermione's told me you already would have known that, right? (By the way Hermione's one of my best friends, along with Harry.)_

 _Anyway, Hagrid is a complete nutter about dragons (like you) (just kidding!), and he told Harry the first day he met him that he's always wanted one as a pet. And then he won an egg off a stranger in a pub._

 _That's right, he has an illegal new-born Norwegian Ridgeback hiding out in his (wooden) house, though it won't be able to hide much longer. Norbert (the dragon) is six times as long as he was when he was born and that was only a couple weeks ago! He likes brandy and chicken blood (and my fingers, but Madame Pomfrey is putting that right) and Hagrid is in love. But if he gets caught, he could be in big trouble, and someone is going to find out one way or another._

 _I need to ask you if you can come pick Norbert up sometime soon and take him to your dragon-training place. He'd be happy there, and you'll be able to provide for him a lot better than Hagrid. It'll need to be sometime at night so we can smuggle him out. Just give us a date that works for you (as long as it's soon!) and a place and time and we'll be there. Please hurry!_

 _Your loving (and desperate) brother,_

 _Ron (and Harry and Hermione, too)_

Charlie jumped as a bark of laughter sounded in his ear. He turned around, furious and half-deaf, to find Claudiu Dalca, his best friend at the program, bent double in laughter. He had obviously been reading over Charlie's shoulder.

"What the hell?!"

"Your school's– gamekeeper– has– an illegal dragon– in his house?"

"A Norwegian Ridgeback. And he lives in a wooden house," Charlie sighed.

This just made Claudiu laugh harder, and it was a long time before he said, "And your brother wants you to pick him up and move him here?" He was unable to speak anymore.

"Yeah." A grin made its way onto Charlie's face at the absurdity of the situation, and soon he was laughing just as hard as Claudiu, until tears were streaming down both their faces.

The two men did not notice the door open until a familiar voice asked, "What's so funny?"

Charlie and Claudiu looked up to find another one of the trainees in their group, Filip Atanasov. The three were part of a dragon training program held at Durmstrang Institute. Durmstrang was the only school that would fund and allow that kind of dangerous work, but considering that Igor Karkaroff was the Headmaster, maybe it shouldn't have been as big of a surprise. Everyone in the program had taken an oath to protect the location of the school, and had given consent to have their memories Obliviated when they finished the two-year training. Contrary to popular belief, it was on the southern border of Bulgaria, right next to Romania, where the trainees told their families they stayed.

Charlie passed Filip the letter. Claudiu was giggling as Filip's eyes perused the paper. When he was done, he smirked, refolded the letter, and tossed it back to Claudiu. Just as he was about to say something, a chime sounded, signaling the start of training for the day. "Good luck," Filip said with a grin. He turned and walked out of the room.

Charlie and Claudiu glanced at each other and worked to hide their laughter as Charlie got Hedwig situated and stowed the letter under his mattress. It would not do if someone were to find out about a Norwegian Ridgeback at Hogwarts.

.oOo.

Their training group was small (only ten people), but dragon-lovers from all over the world traveled to take the course. The small class also meant that each trainee got more work, a definite plus in Charlie's opinion.

Filip looked like the sort of guy you'd expect to be working in a dragon-training program– tall, broad-shouldered and blonde-haired, which contrasted a little oddly with his tan skin, and bushy eyebrows with squinty, green eyes. Claudiu was a lot shorter, with a skinnier build and dark skin, thick, black hair, and tattoos. Lots and lots of tattoos. Tattoos up and down his arms, weaving across his back and a few creeping up his neck. He even had a slender Chinese fireball spiraling around his left leg. All the boys in the program were extremely jealous; Charlie knew his mother would flay him alive if he ever got one.

He and Claudiu had hit it off right away with a debate about dragon breeds and skills and firepower. They could hardly wait for when they would get to work with really huge, powerful beasts like the Chinese Fireball around Claudiu's leg, but that wasn't until next year. For the past month, they had been taking care of baby Romanian Longhorns, which were almost extinct because wizards used to hunt them for their golden horns. The ones the trainees worked with came from a breeding programme in Romania that was dedicated to preserving the species. As part of their training, Charlie and his classmates got to feed them, clean their scales, and give the dragons exercise by flying them around a magically enforced flying pitch about the size of three Quidditch fields, gaining the dragons' trust all the while. Charlie and Claudiu were taking care of a male dragon named Goro.

At the end of the flying session, the instructor, Trainer Varela, called all the trainees and dragons to the center of the pitch.

"Alright! Settle down your dragons as best as possible!" she called over the scrambling trainees as they tried to get the Hebrideans to stay still. Charlie winced as Goro stepped on his foot. "You've been working in pairs with these guys for a few weeks now, and now we think it's time to throw you into the deep end for a bit, so to speak. You and your partner will be taking care of your dragon full-time for a week–" Varela had to pause as a murmur of excitement swept through the trainees. Charlie and Claudiu looked at each other with identical, manic grins. "Settle down. Settle down, please! Thank you. Now, as I said, you will be taking care of these dragons full-time for a week. You all will conference presently with a few handlers from the Romanian Longhorn Breeding Programme about how they are taken care of at the programme so that you can simulate their environment here. Next Tuesday, you will give a full report– we will be checking them for authenticity, so don't leave anything out. Full instructions have been placed in your dormitories. Supplies have been designated for you in the storage units. Remember– this is an endangered species and their lives are now in your hands. If you do not treat these dragons with care, on your head be it. Any questions? No? Good. Please put your dragons in their chambers and meet back here for the conference in five minutes. Class dismissed!"

.oOo.

"So, what are you going to do about the Norwegian Ridgeback?" Claudiu asked him after the conference.

"I don't know," Charlie replied. "It'll be hard to take care of two dragons at once, but I can't wait until the week is up. When Norbert starts teething, someone will definitely get hurt, and Hagrid's house will be burned down long before then."

"It's already hard enough with Goro," Claudiu said.

The handlers from the Romanian Longhorn Breeding Programme had given the group a rigorous, meticulous schedule that all the dragons followed. Then each pair had to speak individually with the handler that took care of their dragon. (In Charlie and Claudiu's case, a handler named Cameron Bolton took care of Goro, who needed his teeth cleaned every other day instead of once a week like most dragons. This was a highly dangerous, stressful process because the dragons always seemed to know when they would undergo this torture and subsequently hide, run away, and fight to escape– usually the trainees had to resort to body-binder hexes to keep them still.) All in all, caring for Goro took a lot more effort and time than Charlie had ever anticipated.

"How are we going to get him here?" Charlie asked.

"Do you have a broom?"

"Yes!" Charlie's eyes widened. "You're a genius! If we can just… it'll take some time, but if we start today it should be done by Thursday– Come on!" He sped off to their dormitory, leaving Claudiu and Goro to catch up.

.oOo.

"And if we put a strap on the side–"

"Mr. Weasley, Mr. Dalca, pay attention!" Trainer Varela said sharply. Charlie snapped into focus quickly, pulling the scale-brush away from Goro's curious mouth.

"I told you we'd get in trouble," Claudiu said, scrubbing Goro's leg. They were trying to discuss building a harness between two brooms to transport Norbert, staying up well past curfew to factor in its weight capacity, materials, how long the harness would be able to hold, and other components like the time they'd leave, pick up the dragon and arrive back at Durmstrang and where to meet Ron and his friends so that they didn't get caught– it was all so complicated and even with the two of them, it required too much time and attention to take proper care of Goro. Not to mention that they still had to build the thing first. And if this is the responsibility of taking care of one dragon, how will we ever be able to take care of both? Charlie worried.

The bell rang, signaling the end of the day and shaking Charlie out of his thoughts. He and Claudiu un-tied Goro from the tree used to keep dragons still while being groomed and made their way up to the dragon dorms to drop him off.

Goro, like the other Longhorns, slept in a stall with an enormous pile of hay as a mattress. That was one of the many challenges of taking care of dragons– you had to make sure the place wouldn't go up in flames.

Charlie carelessly fluffed up the hay and changed the water. "So, the leather will have to maybe be belted on, or maybe even a Sticking Charm– yeah, that should do it– OW!" He retracted his hand, cursing and hopping. He had steadily been dripping water onto Goro's head as he changed the trough, and the dragon had decided he'd had enough. The bite began to swell, Charlie's hand growing greener by the second. Suddenly, a bullet of pain ripped through his hand, traveling speedily up his arm– the Longhorn venom at work. Charlie screamed, and began to get other dragons' attention. The screaming aggravated Goro further and he lowered his head ready to charge. Charlie just had time to see hear Claudiu yell "Look out!" before the Longhorn slit his chest with the tip of his horn. The poison coursed through him like fire– and then he blacked out.

.oOo.

Charlie groaned. How could he have been so stupid?

"Well, it does help if you're trying to build a harness for an illegal Norwegian Ridgeback smuggling expedition," a voice answered.

"Hmmm?" Charlie hadn't realized he'd spoken out loud.

"Wake up, doofus and help me figure out the shit ton of work I have to do now."

Charlie obeyed blearily. He was in the hospital ward, the one Trainer Varela had shown the trainees on their very first day. Sitting by his bed was Claudiu.

"You've put the trainers in quite a frenzy, I'll tell you that," Claudiu said. "Goro set fire to his hay after you passed out, so I put it out with an Aguamenti, but now the dragon dorm smells even more horrid than usual. And now, since the lunatic nurse here is going to insist that you get a bunch of bed rest, I have to take care of the beast by myself and figure out how we're going to smuggle the Ridgeback in. Happy?"

"Wow," Charlie said dumbly. Claudiu snorted.

Just then, an extremely short, muscly and stern-looking woman came bustling into the room. "Good, you're awake," she said briskly, waving her wand offhandedly at Charlie. A list of monitors and numbers appeared by her and she examined them with a frown before telling Charlie, "The venom is powerful, but luckily your friend here managed to get you here in time so that it didn't reach your lungs. If it had, you'd be in here for at least a month. Your temperature has gone down, but not enough. And the cut is going to take time to seal itself up, so I expect you'll be here for ten days to get all the gas out of your system too before you're sent back to training." She said all of this very speedily and in one breath, as if she was rather annoyed and wanted to get the thing over with. "I knew this was a bad idea– letting only graduates handle our Longhorns!" she huffed. "Well, let's just hope there aren't any more accidents like this one, hmm?" Something about her demanding tone made Charlie feel as though he was in front of some relative of Professor McGonagall's.

"Yes ma'am," he and Claudiu both said.

"So anyway," Claudiu continued, turning back to Charlie once the nurse had left, "now Varela's going to be keeping an even closer eye on me, and I'm gonna have to finish and build the harness now!"

"I can help–" Charlie began, starting to feel very guilty about this whole thing.

"No, you can't," Claudiu said flatly. "You heard the nurse and saw what she's like: she won't let you anywhere near Goro again unless she doesn't take her sight off you. I'll just have to ask someone else."

"But won't that be dangerous?" Charlie asked. "All the other guys in the dorm would rat us out, you know it. At least let me help with the blueprints," he begged when he saw that Claudiu was still skeptical.

After a pause, Claudiu conceded. "Fine," he said. "But I'm giving up my free period for this, so I'm warning you."

"Thanks!" Charlie called as his friend left the room.

.oOo.

"I've finally got it!" Claudiu announced two days later as he burst into the hospital ward. The nurse, Nurse Arnwine, as Charlie has learned over the past week, glared at him over her sheet of parchment. Claudiu gave her a sheepish smile and turned excitedly back to Charlie.

"The harness is all laid out, look," he said, spreading the parchment out on Charlie's lap. "If we add straps over the top that go across both brooms like this," he traced the line with his finger, "then we don't need to worry about speed or it falling off!"

"Excellent!" Charlie said. "And I've figured out the weight issue– just put a Feather-Light Charm on the crate before take-off!"

Claudiu grinned. "Now all we have to work out is the time." He pulled out a map of Europe.

"It'll take weeks to fly there," Charlie said miserably.

"I'm not flying all the way to England and back," Claudiu said with a scoff. "I just need to find an Apparition point that's relatively close and we can fly in from there."

"We? You know I'm not being let out for another seven days, right?"

"I know, but my cousin Andrei is visiting on Friday. On Saturday night he could come with me and we can take the Ridgeback. I've just sent him an owl, but it should be fine."

"Saturday night then?" Charlie asked. "Can you get there by midnight?"

"With time zones? Definitely," Claudiu said. "Midnight there will be about 3 am here, and that's perfect."

"You should apparate into Hogsmeade," Charlie suggested. "It's a village really close to the school, so you can get there and then fly in."

"But how are we gonna apparate back with a dragon?"

Charlie thought long and hard. "You can't use a Portkey, 'cause those are regulated by the Ministry…."

"Is there a Floo we can use?"

"Yes!" Charlie snapped his fingers. "There's a public one in a place called the Leaky Cauldron– if you silence the Ridgeback as you walk through, it shouldn't be a problem."

"I think we've got this all planned out." Claudiu grinned.

"Finally. I'll write to Ron, and we'll wait on the response from your cousin. If he doesn't reply, I can give Arnwine the slip and just come with you instead."

Claudiu looked nervous, glancing at the bandages wrapped around Charlie's torso, but nodded. "And I'll need the address of this Hogsmeade and Leaky Cauldron. I've never been."

"Sure." Charlie scribbled down the two locations on a bit of parchment and gave them to Claudiu, who shoved them in his robe pocket. "Now I'll just write to Ron and then we– I mean, you– have to actually build this thing."

Claudiu groaned, throwing a pillow at Charlie's face.

.oOo.

"Ron responded," Charlie announced as Claudiu entered the hospital ward two days later, speaking first before he could say anything. "We're a go for Saturday night."

"Great!" Claudiu replied. "I've got even better news– I finished the harness."

"That fast?! How?" Charlie noticed the heavy bags under his eyes. "Jeez, mate, how long did you stay up?" It dawned on him how much stress Claudiu had been under these last few days.

"I'm pretty sure it was 4 am," Claudiu said casually, but the effect was ruined by a loud yawn.

Charlie gave a long, low whistle. "Wow. Thanks a lot, man. It means a lot to Hagrid, and the dragon too, of course."

"No problem," he said sleepily.

"So where is it?"

"What?"

"The harness! Where is it?"

"Well I couldn't bring it here," Claudiu said exasperatedly. "It's pretty much ready; I'll just need to hook it up to the brooms tonight."

"I still wish I could come with you guys."

"Tough." Claudiu said, smiling. "At least this'll all be over with when we get it. You're sure you can get the stuff ready?"

Charlie scoffed. "Of course." Their plan was for Charlie to arrange a place for Norbert in the dragon dorms next to Goro, who had calmed down from the incident six days ago. His cuts were healing steadily, and he had even been allowed to walk around the small room a few times. A quick trip to the dorms and back couldn't hurt.

.oOo.

Saturday came hurriedly, as time often sped up someone was anxious. Charlie's fever had gone completely and the harness was attached to the brooms. Claudiu's cousin, Andrei Filipov, had come the day before, and had been given a full tour of Durmstrang, along with the full breakdown of the harness Claudiu had built– apparently he and Andrei were both very adept with Muggle carpentry and Andrei was studying to become an architect at a Beauxbatons program. After Andrei fiddled with and tweaked the harness, there was no doubt in Charlie or Claudiu's mind that their plan would be executed perfectly.

At 7 pm on Saturday, Claudiu and Andrei left Charlie's bedside with discreet winks and went to put Goro to sleep. Charlie listened to the rustles of parchment from Nurse Arnwine's office as he counted down the hours until 2 am, when he had to get a space ready for Norbert in the dragon dorms.

At 10 pm, Nurse Arnwine bid Charlie a good night and left the hospital ward to go home, closing the door with a soft click.

Charlie was starting to feel drowsy around 11. The potions he was given were making him woozy, and his eyelids kept drooping down. Every time this happened, he would fall into a doze, wake up after five minutes with a start and berate himself for not staying awake, fortifying his resolve to stay alert, after which he would inevitably fall back into the cycle.

Eventually, around midnight, Charlie gave in. A couple hours can't hurt, he thought.

.oOo.

Charlie sat up suddenly, disoriented by the lack of light. He grabbed his wand from the bedside table and cast a hasty lumos, pointing the beam towards the clock on the wall: 2:30. He'd overslept! Claudiu and Andrei were due in half an hour. Forgetting to be stealthy, Charlie dashed out of the hospital ward, up the stairs to the main hall, and up more stairs to the base of the shortest tower in Durmstrang, South Tower. Up more stairs he went, climbing in a tight, dizzying circle until he reached the spacious dragon dorm.

Now Charlie took notice of the noise he made, and tried to steady his breathing, but after a week in the hospital ward, he had not had much exercise. He shook his head and walked over to the side wall, where there were spare buckets and a huge vat of water from the lake. He scooped up a bucketful, ignoring the screaming burning sensation that laced his torso. He carried the water unsteadily into Goro's stall, setting it against the far wall with a relieved sigh. He rubbed his stomach and then went to get more hay.

Three armfuls later, there was enough hay for both Goro and a baby Norwegian Ridgeback (Charlie hoped). He cast around for some food to keep the young reptile busy through the night. There were a few gruesome bones in the dragons next door's stall…. Charlie had no other option– the Ridgeback couldn't be discovered.

He opened the creaky door slowly, waiting for the slightest movement that would signal the disturbance of one of the dragons. Luckily, Charlie was able to make a space big enough to squeeze through without being detected.

He crept behind the dragon, picking up the bones gingerly and placing them into his arms. The last one was right under its tail. Charlie bent over slowly, painfully as his wound twinged and ached, and finally let out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding when he laid a hand on the bone. There was a horrible ripping sensation in his abdomen, and, though tiny, Charlie knew his wound had split open.

He crept carefully but hastily back to Goro's stall and deposited the bones in the back, ignoring the wetness that was spreading under his bandage. Hopefully the dressing would sustain him until the morning.

His work done, Charlie made his way down the stairs of the South Tower, wincing with every step, and walked across the huge institute to the North Tower, where Claudiu and Andrei were arriving with Norbert.

Wincing once more as he climbed another set of spiraling, dizzying stairs, Charlie relished the cool breeze blowing across the Bulgarian countryside while he waited.

It was only ten minutes later when Charlie could make out a lopsided shape making its way across the dark sky towards Durmstrang. Slowly but steadily, the shape of Claudiu and Andrei, each on a broom and carrying a large crate strapped into a leather harness between them, became clearer and clearer as they neared the tower, finally making a clunky landing right behind Charlie.

They were both out of breath, sweaty and tired, but they were grinning with the glee of people who had just gotten away with a spectacular illegal stunt.

The three worked quickly to untie the rattling crate from the harness. Charlie offered to help carry the rather heavy Norbert, but Claudiu and Andrei waved him off, letting him lead the way. It was a precarious, tense journey down the stairs of North Tower with the brooms and harness floating magically behind the group, Charlie constantly whispering "Steady, steady…", but they managed it. It was an even bigger struggle getting the crate up the stairs to a South Tower, but, with Charlie's help, the boys finally made it to the dragon dorms. Charlie tried to ignore the ache in his side and his paling face as he led them into Goro's stall. They set the crate down gently on the cushiony hay and put a Sliencing Charm around the thing. Finally, on the count of three, Claudiu took the top off with a wave of his wand.

Norbert emerged slowly, first his eyes, peering curiously and warily around, then his wings perked up, and then his front claws, and lastly, he jumped out of the crate with a silent snarl. He turned around three times on the spot, then laid down and began to gnaw on the bones.

Charlie, Claudiu, and Andrei celebrated and congratulated themselves silently, and after Andrei Vanished the crate, they made their way down the steps of South Tower.

"I can't believe we got away with that," Claudiu said faintly as they dropped Charlie off at the hospital ward.

"Me neither," a voice said behind them. Trainer Varela stepped out from behind the shadows.

They all gulped audibly.

~Fin~


	40. When the Wind Calls

**A/N: This story was written for Slytherin house in the Houses Competition round 9 as a drabble using the prompt haunties house. Enjoy!**

 **Word count (not including A/N): 741**

Rosmerta surveyed her pub as she wiped her face with a cloth. It was nearing Halloween and students from Hogwarts were out enjoying the last bit of sunny weather before November. Friends were talking loudly, sipping butterbeer, and some couples were in small, tucked-away corners. She checked the clock; it was 5:00 pm. The students would be going back to the castle soon, and then she'd have to serve the dinner rush. Strangely, she didn't see the four infamous third-year Gryffindors: Potter, Black, Lupin, and Pettigrew. _Odd_. She put it out of her mind and forgot about it.

Slowly, the black-robed children filed out, huddled against the already chilly wind. Older villagers began filling the pub and Rosmerta fell back into the bustle of serving hungry and thirsty customers.

Finally– the end of her shift. Rosmerta blew a stray curly lock of hair from her forehead and began wiping the top of the bar with a soapy cloth, the water sparkling in the light of the setting, blood-red sun.

Suddenly, Rosmerta was startled out of her cleaning-induced stupor by a loud, high shriek.

It was the worst thing she had ever heard. It was like someone being tortured under the cruciatus, but the sound was more of an inhuman wail than anything else. The cold, groaning wind carried the sound throughout Hogsmeade, disturbing the peace.

Rosmerta had unconsciously covered her ears, but when the screaming stopped, she took them off, realizing her knuckles were white. She put down her rag, moving cautiously out into the street, like many others had done, wand out and alert. The wind picked up again, turning her nose red and numbing her toes.

The screaming started again. It was more of a howl this time, more animalistic than before. Rosmerta looked around until her eyes landed on a decrepit building on the outskirts of town– the Shrieking Shack.

For the past two years, about every month, there would be horrible wails and tortured howls issuing from the shack, disturbing the villagers and scaring all the children to their parents' rooms. No one knew the source of the sounds, but many believed it to be haunted by extremely violent spirits.

It didn't make sense to Rosmerta. Too many times, customers had been scared away from her pub, and the noises scared her out of her wits, rendering her unable to sleep and requiring copious amounts of coffee to function the next morning. This had gone on long enough.

Rosmerta set her jaw, grabbing her coat and many scarves. After bundling herself thoroughly, she set out into the night.

Even with her coverings, she was still absolutely freezing. The wind seemed to be pushing her backwards, away from the shack, as if to warn her.

Nevertheless, Rosmerta wasn't to be deterred. She shoved down her mounting panic as well as her fear of frostbite, and continued on.

Finally, she made it to the shack. There were more trees here, and while they did shelter her slightly from the gale, the top branches creaked and groaned ominously.

Was she really about to do this? Why couldn't she just wait this out like all the other villagers? But the wind pushed her onwards, this time towards the shrieks, as if to say _Go… go…_

Finally, with a not so-subtle _reducto_ , Rosmerta was able to knock in the door and force her way into the shack.

The inside was slightly dusty, as if no one bothered cleaning and the windows were boarded up haphazardly with nails. But someone or something had definitely been here recently. Books, papers, wood, carpet and upholstery were in tatters on the floor, and deep gouges that looked suspiciously like claw-marks covered every inch of the walls and floor. Speckled on everything, however, was a dark, shining, red liquid– blood.

Rosmerta shuddered, asking herself again why she was doing this to herself, but forged onwards. There was an extremely crooked, broken, unsteady flight of stairs that led to a second floor, where scraping and shuffling sounds grew louder as Rosmerta ascended.

Her heart in her throat, wand at the ready, Rosmerta held her hand on the doorknob, listening to the low, pitiful whines that now issued from behind the door– it wasn't doing anything to build her courage. Suddenly, there was a horrible, groan and the air was still.

Rosmerta opened the door and screamed, dropping her wand. She turned, but didn't make it past the door.


	41. A New Start

**A/N: This is Chapter 5 of the story written for Slytherin house in the Houses Competition's BIG Bonus Round.**

 **Theme: water**

 **Prompt: Hermione Granger**

 **Word count (not including A/N): 1,881**

 **Links to previous chapters:**

 **Chapter 1 (written by** maripaz6 **):** Discoveries

 **Chapter 2 (written by** DaronwyK **):** Delving Deeper

 **Chapter 3 (written by** Andromeda of Othrys **):** Realizations

 **Chapter 4 (written by** cianfaranisofia **):** The Choice

 **And now, chapter 5, the last installment of the story. Enjoy!**

 **A New Start**

Draco breathed sharply. In, out. He could do this. Why was this so hard?

There she went. Granger was walking towards the Great Hall with Potter and Weasel, her hair twice its normal size due to the humidity. If he didn't do it now, he probably wouldn't ever do it.

Summoning his scarce supply of Gryffindor bravery, he called, "Hey, Granger!"

She whirled on the spot, her two sidekicks drawing their wands with their eyes flashing dangerously. Draco would be dead already if the Weasel's glare could kill. "What do you want, Malfoy?" the bushy-haired witch snarled.

"I– Just– Can we talk?" he finished lamely.

She and Potter balked. Weasel retained his stance, moving to step in front of the girl. She threw an arm out and his glare was directed momentarily at her instead of the blonde.

"What do you mean, 'talk', Malfoy?"

"I-I mean I just want to talk to you," he said, his voice lowering shamefully. Students, many of whom had fought alongside Potter and were looking angry or resentful, began to crowd around, ready to defend their three Saviours if the need arose.

"We don't 'talk', Malfoy," Weasel growled. "She doesn't talk to you– hey!" Granger had pushed him. "What the bloody hell was that for?!"

"You always do that!" she burst out. "You always speak for me, telling me what I can or can't do, or what I should or shouldn't! I've had enough! I'm sick of it!"

"I'm just trying to protect you against this scum–"

"Scum!" she shrieked shrilly. "Isn't that what we fought this bloody war for?! To end the prejudice and the fighting?! I'm sick of it! And I'm sick of you, Ronald Weasley!"

The Weasel's face was beet-red and sparks flew unbidden out of his wand as he shouted, "Fine, then! Why don't you just leave?!"

"What, like you did?!" she bellowed. His face drained of color quickly and Potter stood by, stricken. "Of course, I should just run away from my problems like you?! And return like nothing ever happened?! Like I don't care?! Like I don't know that every night, someone I care about is in danger or hurting, beating herself up because she wondered what she did wrong?!" The tears that had been visibly building up for the entirety of the argument spilled over, and her face was as flushed as his.

"Hermione–"

"I'm sick of it, and I'm sick of you, Ronald Weasley," she repeated, breathing heavily. She covered her face, failing to hide the streaming tears, and ran out of the building, into the pouring rain.

The whole room was silent, shocked speechless at the detonation of a fight they had just witnessed, and there was a ringing in the air, rather like the aftermath of a real explosion.

Without warning, Draco felt a jolt and he was against the stone wall, blasted back by a surge of pure, unadulterated magic from the Weasel. His vision went blurry and dark around the edges. He managed to dodge another curse fired from the enraged boy's wand. Draco saw Potter jerk into motion and grab Weasel around the torso, pinning his arms to his sides. Draco ran, holding the now-sticky back of his head, down the steps of the castle, following the same route Granger had into the grounds.

The rain soothed his pounding, aching head, washing the blood out of his hair and soothing him like it had only last night. He tenderly touched the back of his head again, gasping as the contact made spots explode behind his eyelids. He winced, performing a charm he and his family had used when the Dark Lord had been feeling particularly vindictive with his punishments. The pain lessened significantly and Draco made a mental note to visit Madame Pomfrey.

He put his hands in his pockets and sighed, admiring the way the drops of cool water ran down his arms. He looked out onto the grounds and saw a figure leaning against a tree. Was that– Granger! The diary! Draco groaned and hurried over to her.

"Granger!" She looked up, startled at the cry and got up, making to bolt. "Hey– hey, wait– Granger! I promise, I just want to talk!"

She stopped and hung her head, her brown hair plastered to her neck and back, and tried in vain to wipe the tears off her face, which streamed off her face and mingled with the raindrops falling steadily onto her face. "What do you want, Malfoy?" she asked miserably.

"I just told you, to talk," he repeated. "Is that so hard to believe?"

"Well, given your history…." She trailed off.

"That's fair," he whispered. "But I do actually want to tell you something."

"And?"

"I, well, I found this–" He took the half-sodden diary out of his pocket, and the brunette's eyes widened. "– in the lake the other day. And, well, I've been reading it and–"

"How did you know that was mine?" she hissed.

"Well, I walked in on you and Weasley fighting yesterday and I just… put it together."

Hermione paled. "So– so you– you know everything," she whispered.

"I know that you're going through what we all are, what anybody who was affected by the war is, and that you're in a rather emotionally abusive and damaging relationship with the Weasel and, well, you've been through a lot and you're coping as best you can."

She opened her mouth– and sighed. Finally, she let out a humorless laugh. "Yeah. Yeah, that about sums up my life right now." She sniffed and wiped at her nose. They sat in an awkward silence.

"He's just– always been there for me, you know?" she said suddenly. "All through school. And… we would fight a lot, but it was over silly things, like pets or broomsticks. And then, as the we got older, things were getting more dangerous and more complicated. The war progressed, our friendship was all over the place, and with Harry and his situation in the mix, sixth year was a total mess. We were always concentrated on fighting, never ourselves or our relationship. Our emotions were everywhere, and I never had anyone to talk to or time to talk about myself or how I was feeling while Ron snogged his emotions away– he never had time for me, and that hurt.

"And then seventh year, or what should have been our seventh year, came around. We all just wanted to survive. We were running out of time. Who knew if we'd make it out of this, three seventeen-year-olds trying to save the world alone? So we grew closer– hand-holding and such." Normally this probably would have made Hermione blush, but now she spoke with no emotion. "But we never openly talked about it, about what would become of us after the war, that is. We just let it be and hoped for the best.

"But it was almost an unspoken rule– that we would all stick by each other. I never thought that he would leave." She paused, steadying herself before continuing on. "But then he did. And I was shattered. I felt betrayed and heartbroken and I didn't want to continue. But I did. I stood by Harry, hoping I was doing the right thing. I tried to forget and accept that he left and he wouldn't be coming back. Defeating Voldemort was the only thing that mattered.

"But then he returned. And he just said 'Hey'. That was all. Not 'I was wrong' or 'I was stupid' or even 'I'm sorry'. Just 'hey'. Like nothing had happened. I was furious, and I told him so, but like usual, he didn't understand, or try to. And I tried to stay mad at him, but I was so relieved to have him back, that I just let myself fall back into the lie that was our relationship. And as usual, we didn't address anything, not even that he left, and I kept telling myself that after it was all over, we'd sort it all out. Somehow, him being back translated that we'd definitely survive." She laughed bitterly.

"And after Voldemort was killed and everyone celebrated, there was the grief and the mourning and the aftermath. Funerals, trying to repair Hogwarts, trying to repair ourselves. And it seemed like, to him, it was a given that we'd be happily in love and it would be perfect. And I went along with it. I pretended that now He was dead, I was fine. But I wasn't– I'm still not."

"But it's not just you," Draco told her. "Anyone would feel that way after what you've gone through."

"Thanks." She stared off into the distance. "I wonder if this whole relationship with him has just made my life harder than it needs to be. If I'd be better off without him. He always ends up hurting me in some way."

"You would be better off without him," Draco said softly. "And I'm not just saying that because he's the Weasel."

"I think, for once in your life, you're right, Malfoy," she said, giving him a small smile. He smiled thinly back. "You know, usually you would say something along the lines of 'Well, Malfoys are always right, Granger.'," she said playfully. He smirked and settled hesitantly against the tree with her. They sat in a comfortable silence.

"I'm not going to tell anyone, you know," Draco said softly. She looked up, surprised. "I actually wanted to give you this back. It might help you." He held out the diary and she took it, still stunned. "And maybe offer to make peace."

She stared at him. "I supposed I shouldn't be surprised after you've listened all this time."

"So, will you? Make peace with me?"

She glanced at him strangely for a long moment.

"Sure, Malfoy," she said softly.

"Really?"

"Mhmm." She relaxed against the tree, tilting her face up to enjoy the rain.

"Do you know why I like the rain?" she asked abruptly. Draco shook his head. "It's comforting. Calming. It soothes me. Cools me down when I get hot-headed and allows me to get back into a rational head-space. I'm always more comfortable when I can be logical."

"Big surprise." She shoved him a little.

"It's the same thing with showers and baths. And swimming. I guess water is reassuring, in a way."

"I'm the same way," Draco replied. "There's a window that looks out on the Black Lake in the Slytherin common room. It's a nice place to think– and be logical." She smirked.

"And it doesn't make my shirt transparent," he snarked.

Her eyes widened and she crossed her arms quickly over her chest. "Merlin! I thought you were supposed to be classy!"

He smirked. "Come on, let's get you back to the castle." He stood up and pulled her up by the hand. They began walking back towards the castle. "Then you can rub it in Weasel's face."

She rolled her eyes. "You're horrible."

They walked back to the castle in comfortable silence, and Draco knew that by helping Hermione Granger, he had started walking down the path to being a better, happier person. He was healing.

A new day was dawning for him, and for once, he was excited for it.

 _~Fin~_


	42. Chapter 42

**A/N: This is a drabble written for Slytherin house in round 10 of the Houses Competition.**

 **Prompt: "Thank you for agreeing to help. My son is in a difficult position."**

Scorpius sat outside the Headmistress's office nervously, trying not to look at his father even though he knew he didn't do anything. Lord Malfoy wasn't the type to get mad, but he would be disappointed. Really, it was Albus they should be asking about this– he was the one who had gotten them into this mess.

"We should do something," Albus whined, tapping an aimless rhythm on the bed frame.

"What do you mean?" Scorpius asked.

"We should go out!"

"Go out? Have you forgotten that we're social outcasts?"

"Not to where anybody knows us," he explained. "We should go to a Muggle place, somewhere we can just be Al and Scorp, y'know?"

"But we're Al and Scorp right here, right?"

"Come on, Scorp, we can be teenagers! Not the Slytherin Potter and the Son of Voldemort!"

"How are even going to get to a Muggle village from here?"

"Well, I don't know where my siblings keep their brooms for nothing, do I?"

Scorpius sighed, knowing he'd already lost.

.oOo.

"Are you sure about this?" Scorpius asked, surveying the smoky club. Muggles were everywhere, some teenagers and some adults, almost every single one of them with a glass in their hand, and if they didn't, it was because they were too inebriated already to hold one.

"It'll be fine. Think about it– no one knows where we are," Albus whispered excitedly.

"That's what I'm worried about," Scorpius mumbled as his friend led him by the hand towards the bar.

.oOo.

"No more," Scorpius said firmly, taking the bottle of… whatever it was out of Albus's hand.

"But iss not even that strong, iss a Muggle drink," Albus whined, slurring slightly. "I only had half, I'm only a little tipsy."

"I don't care," Scorpius hissed. "We need to get out of here! Are you sure you're sober enough to fly home?"

"I'll be fine," Albus said, swaggering unsteadily towards the door. Scorpius followed after him helplessly."You can't tell anyone," Albus said, apparently sedate enough to comprehend a need for secrecy. He held one finger up near his face.

"I'm afraid it's a little late for that."

Albus turned around and collided into the last person he wanted to see– his father.

Both Malfoys looked up as the enormous stone griffin began to rotate. Scorpius stood and moved towards the staircase when two figures stepped off it. Albus looked sullen, led by his father's firm hand on his shoulder out of the Headmistress's office. Unfortunately for the sixth year, Mr. Potter looked angry, his green eyes hard and cold, his hand none too gentle as he shepherded the child towards the stairs. They stopped when they spotted the Malfoys, though Mr. Potter looked none too happy to see them. He steered Albus towards the two blondes and began murmuring to Lord Malfoy, which left Scorpius and Albus together.

"Al–" Scorpius started.

"–Scor, I'm sorry," Albus interrupted. "I– It was really stupid of me to take us to that club."

"No kidding."

"You're not in as much trouble as I am though," he mumbled, hanging his head. "I told McGonagall that it wasn't your fault. You also weren't the one who was drunk, so I think she'll let you off easier, at least." He looked up. "Are you still mad?"

"Well, yeah." Albus's face fell. "But I'm more annoyed than anything else."

"Oh. Okay."

There was a long stretch of uncomfortable silence, in which both boys listened in to what their fathers were saying.

"– and let her know that it wasn't Scorpius's fault. He shouldn't receive as harsh of a punishment; McGonagall was always fair."

Draco sneered. "Thank you for agreeing to help. My son is in a difficult position."

"How so?"

"Well, he has trouble leading and not giving into peer pressure," Lord Malfoy replied with a sneer, making both Potters' gazes turn cold. The man looked down to his son, guiding him lightly, but in a way that left no room for argument up the stairs to the Headmistress's office.


	43. Goodbye, Scorpius

**A/N: This is a themed story written for Slytherin house in round 10 of the Houses Competition.**

 **Prompt: So, I did a pregnancy charm..."**

 **Word count: 876  
**

 **Goodbye, Scorpius**

"Draco?"

"Yes, dear?"

"So, I did a pregnancy charm…"

"And?" he asked, his face full of excitement.

Astoria looked own, tears welling in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said softly.

"Hey, don't cry," Draco said, rushing forward to comfort his now crying wife. "This is not your fault. It will happen. We will have a child."

"But what if something's wrong with me?"

"Nothing is wrong with you," Draco soothed as she resting her head on his shoulder.

"But we've been trying for two months," she whispered.

"That doesn't matter. I know we'll have a son or daughter sooner or later."

"Your optimism isn't helping," Astoria said, giggling slightly.

"I try," Draco teased. "Come on, I'll make some tea." He let go of her small frame carefully and she crossed to a chair as Draco put the kettle on. He walked back and sat next to his wife, holding her hand and rubbing the back of it with his thumb.

"What shall his name be?" Draco asked into the silence.

"What?"

"Our son's name? What shall it be?"

Astoria laughed half-heartedly. "It could be a girl, Draco."

"I believe it will be a boy," Draco said. "Malfoys have had sons for generations. My great-grandfather Actaeus had my grandfather Abraxas, my grandfather Abraxas had my father Lucius, and my father had me. I know I'll have a boy as well. But we need a name befitting a Malfoy."

"A name befitting a Malfoy?" Astoria mused, playing along. "I like…. Scorpius."

"Then that is what his name shall be," Draco said, smiling.

The kettle whistled, startling them both out of their own thoughts, and he stood up and took it off, grabbing mugs, putting tea bags in them, and pouring the water over them. He spooned in a small amount of sugar for Astoria and a large amount of milk for himself and carried them back to the sitting room. Upon the sight of his wife, he dropped the mugs and they shattered, spilling tea on the expensive carpet and littering the floor with porcelain shards, but he didn't pay attention.

Astoria was pale, sweaty, shaking, and passed out cold.

.oOo.

"Astoria?" Draco asked.

"Yes, dear?"

"How are you feeling?"

"I… am in pain," she said, knowing it wouldn't fare well to lie to her husband, seeing as he knew her too well already. "And I'm tired of being ill."

"I know. I am too."

"Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy?" The couple looked up. Astoria's personal healer, Healer Bateson, stepped into the room with a clipboard. "I hear you've had another episode."

"Yes, but I'm fine–"

"No, you're not," both Healer Bateson and Draco said in unison. Draco looked at her in surprise.

"She's not?" he asked.

Bateson shook her head. "You have been trying to get pregnant?" Astoria nodded. "And this is… the third episode this month, correct?" Astoria nodded again. "Yes well, I'm afraid we now have a diagnosis for you, Mrs. Malfoy. I was hoping this would go away on its own, but now I have no choice but to inform you– you have blood malediction."

Astoria gasped, which led to a coughing fit. After a stabilizing spell performed by Healer Bateson, she asked, "What does this mean?"

"The blood malediction spell is one that was very commonly thought to get rid of the Muggle blood in a wizard's genetics in the 1700s. Obviously, there is no such spell, but once cast, it can be passed down through a person's lineage to a descendant. If gone untreated, it can be fatal." Draco took Astoria's hand and squeezed. "The disease identifies itself in the form of a growth of unnatural cells in the blood. These cells will crowd out the magical blood cells in the body, destroying someone's magical core until eventually a witch or wizard is rendered unable to perform magic. If the condition continues, their magical core will eventually be destroyed and they will die.

"Luckily, recent developments have helped us keep the disease at bay, and if you take the proper medication, it should sustain you through at least your sixties. You have a form of chronic blood malediction, so it has developed slowly over time and will continue to do so. You may have had this condition since very early in your life and have not known it."

"What does this mean for a baby?" Draco asked desperately.

Healer Bateson looked pityingly at the couple. "I'm very sorry, but Mrs. Malfoy, you will have to say goodbye to the possibility of conceiving a child."

Astoria gave a quiet moan of sorrow and buried her face in Draco's shoulder, beginning to sob in earnest. Draco felt as though he could not breathe. His child– any possibility of being a father– was gone. He had been so sure that it would happen, confident that the blue light of a positive pregnancy charm would welcome them one day, so assured he had even been treating Astoria as if she had been with child. And now, although no baby had ever been conceived, he felt as though someone had died.

As Healer Bateson prattled on about symptoms, medication, potions, and side effects a lone tear rolled down Draco's face, breaking through his mask of unfeeling. Goodbye, Scorpius.


	44. The Howler

**A/N: This is a short story written for Slytherin house in round 10 of the Houses Competition.**

 **Prompt: howler**

 **Word count: 2281  
**

 **The Howler**

Remus awoke suddenly to an incessant tapping. He sat up, ignoring the ache of his muscles, and looked out his grimy window. A fearsome screech owl held a yellow parchment envelope, pecking relentlessly on the glass to be let in.

Remus sighed, but there was nothing to do except let the owl in– it would only bother him until he relented. He crossed the small room and opened the window and the owl flew in at once, dropping the letter onto the small wooden table in the middle of the one-room cottage. The owl landed and perched on the one chair Remus owned, making it creak and sway.

With trepidation, Remus pointed his wand at the fat envelope. It burst open, but nothing nefarious came out. Remus sighed in relief. Ever since that fateful night in the Shrieking Shack, his life had been going downhill. He'd moved back into his secluded cottage next to the forest and resigned himself to being an outcast for the rest of his life. He had been receiving hate mail ever since Rita Skeeter got wind of his predicament from Snape, and they were often filled with vile, harmful substances as well as hurtful words, such as undiluted bubotuber pus. Remus had long since learned to avoid opening the letters by hand, as that usually led to mild but still painful injuries. Even now, a week into September, a spare letter would make its way to him to tell him what a horrible creature he was.

This letter was made of yellowish parchment and it had a green seal on it– the Hogwarts crest. Remus reached for it cautiously, with his hands this time, to find a newspaper clipping and a letter written on the same heavy parchment as the envelope. He looked at the clipping first; it was an article from the Daily Prophet with the headline Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor Found to be a Fraud. A subhead under that read The Questionable Employees of Albus Dumbledore: What does this mean for our children's education? Intrigued, Remus read the article.

In recent years, the crucial job of educating wizarding youth in Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has fluctuated from person to person each year, and the job of hiring a new, qualified professor each year has fallen to Hogwarts' renowned headmaster Albus Dumbledore. Though the infamous warlock has earned many titles and much fame throughout his life and is respected by the wizarding population at large, the public has yet to know about his most recent choice of faculty members.

Albus Dumbledore has made many questionable choices of faculty, including one Severus Snape, who he vouched for even though the man was a proven Death Eater, and one Remus Lupin, a werewolf hired only last term to (ironically) teach Defense to the wizarding youth whose condition was exposed and subsequently fired the next day. He made another dubious choice when he announced that Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, a former Auror notorious for being hypersensitive to falsely-perceived threats after his time in the Ministry, would be filling in the post for the werewolf. Just last night, however, the ex-Auror was found trapped in his own seven-lock trunk. The person that had been posing as Moody was found to be none other that Barty Crouch Jr. using Polyjuice potion to conceal his identity. Most of the public, myself included, believed Crouch Jr. to be dead after an apparently false body was found in Azkaban prison when he was imprisoned for the torture of the Longbottoms. The true story unfolded when, bound and sedated under Veritaserum, Crouch Jr. admitted that his father had smuggled him out of prison using Polyjuice potion containing his mother's hair to disguise the alleged Death Eater. Then Crouch Sr. gave Polyjuice with his son's hair to his wife, and she assumed his place in the cell, where she remained disguised until death. The dementors, guards of Azkaban and unable to see, did not notice the exchange. Crouch Jr. lived under an invisibility cloak under the care of a House Elf while his father carried about his life.

Under further questioning, authorities discovered Crouch Jr.'s motives for escaping his concealed life of comfort for the risk of being discovered by the public. He told the Aurors yesterday that he had been reporting to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, who is planning to return back to life, and that they had hatched a plot where he would enter Harry Potter in the Triwizard Tournament to transport the fourteen-year-old by portkey to a graveyard in the third task, where He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would use the boy's blood to revive the Dark Lord, whereafter He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would kill the fourth year in a duel. The story certainly sounds highly, highly unlikely, but because Veritaserum was used, the Ministry is forced to at least consider the matter. Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, states, "It's absolute rubbish, all of it! I urge the public to remain and rest assured that this story is nothing but the makings of a lunatic. The Ministry is doing our very best to handle the situation." When asked how the Ministry would plan to "handle the situation", Fudge declined comment.

Remus set down the article in shock, not bothering to read the rest– it was all about how Dumbledore was getting in age and he should have realized Crouch Jr.'s true identity before hiring Moody. The Minister didn't seem to think the story was anything to worry about, but Remus found it highly alarming, if not interesting. He shook his head, promising he'd dwell on the subject later, and moved on to the letter.

Dear Remus,

If you read the article attached, you will understand the situation. As it happens, I am contemplating Crouch Jr.'s claims and I will contact you with any information I feel you should know.

But that is not why I am writing to you. As you have gathered, I am in desperate need of a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. As much as Rita Skeeter states otherwise, I care deeply about my students' education, especially in these times. I am writing to you to offer you the vacant position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. I know that there will be protests and allegations made against you and that you would face repercussions. I am loathe to make you uncomfortable, especially about such a topic as this, but I must ask that you return. Most students enjoy your lessons very much and I feel they will learn much from you. There is also the matter of extra protection should Crouch Jr.'s statements prove to be true.

Should you decline, I understand and respect your decision. I will keep you updated with developments about the progress of Lord Voldemort, should I discover something. Please send your response with my owl. I do hope you accept the position.

Albus Dumbledore

Remus was, again, in shock. Return to Hogwarts? How could he? He could endanger everyone– again! What was Dumbledore thinking?

But there were students to be taught and Harry needed someone to look after him since Sirius was on the run…

Remus sighed, defeated, and searched for a quill.

.oOo.

"Who do you think is going to be our Defense teacher now?" Hermione asked as she and Harry waited for Ron so they could go to breakfast.

"I don't know. I'm a little scared to find out. They keep getting worse. I mean, Professor Lupin was great, but Quirrell, Lockhart, and the fake Moody?"

"I see what you mean." She sighed as Ron finally emerged from the dorms. "Let's just hope for the best, I guess."

"The best what?" Ron asked.

"Defense teacher," Harry answered as they climbed through the portrait hole. The fourth years speculated who it could be, hoping it wasn't Snape, until they got to the Great Hall. Harry was idly scanning the teachers' table when he heard Ron gasp. "What?" he asked.

"Look, it's Professor Lupin!" Ron shouted, pointing. And he was right– Professor Lupin sat next to Professor Sprout, his robes shabby and his face leaner than Harry remembered, chatting amicably.

Ron's shout attracted a lot of stares, first towards the redhead himself, and then towards the staff table. People began pointing and whispering to their friends, some looking angry and disgusted. Fred, George, and Lee Jordan stood up and cheered and clapped, unfazed when barely anyone joined them and Professor Lupin turned pink. Across the Hall, Harry could see Malfoy, indignant. The blonde quickly recovered from the shock, forming his face into his signature sneer and immediately turning to whisper with his other friends.

Soon, people were distracted by the arrival of the mail, and forgot about their new professor. Harry, however, noticed that Lupin seemed to be receiving a lot more mail than usual. He nudged Ron and Hermione, and they watched as the lycanthrope opened one after the other. His face grew longer and longer with each one and his posture sagged. The table had to be cleaned multiple times as a smelly, green liquid seeped onto the table. Eventually, Lupin's hands were so swollen he left the Great Hall.

"What happened?" Harry asked, perplexed.

Hermione looked like she wanted to hug Lupin or cry or both. "Don't you see what people are doing? They're sending hate mail because they don't like a werewolf teaching at Hogwarts!" she hissed. Harry and Ron's eyes both narrowed in anger. "They're trying to make him feel bad because they're all prejudiced, hateful–" She cut herself off, trying to calm down, and sighed. "I just hope this doesn't carry on. Honestly, how heartless.." she trailed off, fuming.

But it did carry on. The next day, and the next day, and all through the week. At every meal, Professor Lupin would get up to twenty letters, many filled with bubotuber pus, some reading aloud, all ranting about how dangerous and disgusting he was to society and the school. But the worst part of it all was that he didn't seem to object. Lupin seemed more and more depressed as the days went on, and with every word people sent, he laid down and took it. He would listen to the Howlers he received in a stupor, listening to them without a trace of defiance, as if he, too, agreed that he was a menace to the public at large and that was a disgusting, disgraceful creature (as one letter so eloquently put it).

That Friday, a Howler arrived and announced for the whole student body to hear:

TO MR. LUPIN,

YOU ARE A MENACE TO SOCIETY! HOW COULD YOU THINK OF TEACHING CHILDREN AND JEOPARDIZING THEM AND THEIR SAFETY?! I SUPPOSE IT DOESN'T MATTER TO YOU IF YOU HAPPEN TO KILL OFF A FEW– THAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN YOUR INTENTION ALL ALONG! DUMBLEDORE IS OBVIOUSLY GETTING OLD AND LOSING HIS TOUCH IF HE HIRES VERMIN SUCH AS YOUR KIND! I AM PERSONALLY GRATEFUL TO SEVERUS SNAPE FOR EXPOSING THE DANGEROUS AND UNNATURAL EMPLOYEES OF HOGWARTS' HEADMASTER. I ALMOST PULLED MY CHILDREN OUT OF SCHOOL BECAUSE OF YOU! YOU ARE DEPRIVING INNOCENT CHILDREN OF THEIR SAFETY AND EDUCATION! I HOPE YOU ARE ASHAMED OF YOURSELF! YOU AND EVERYONE LIKE YOU DESERVES TO BE PUT DOWN!

SINCERELY,

MELESINA RUSSELL

No one spoke as the letter burst into flames. Professor Lupin, very pale, set down the ashes, his hands shaking slightly, and walked slowly out of the Great Hall with his head held high, his jaw clenched. As soon as the door boomed closed, everyone burst into talk again.

Ron opened and closed his mouth, trying to find something to say while Harry sat still in shock. Hermione was the first one to speak. "I cannot believe that! How– how dare they?! Who does she think she is?" she sputtered. "That's it! I'm going to do something about this!" She stood up and stalked off, leaving her breakfast untouched.

The next day, everyone was apprehensive. Would there be another Howler? Would Professor Lupin even turn up?

Hermione was not at the portrait, even though Harry and Ron waited for fifteen minutes. Eventually, they went ahead without her and hoped she'd join them eventually. She did, showing up right as the owls poured in, searching for their owners and delivering their parcels.

As the feathers cleared, everyone could see Professor Lupin, or, rather, the smoking Howler clutched in his hand.

The weary werewolf made no move to evade his fate, but he didn't open the thing either. He stared at it with dead amber eyes, plainly ignoring the stares and the fact the the Great Hall was, for once, unusually silent. The Hall held its breath and waited for the explosion, most of the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws clenching their fists.

The envelope burst into flames and a girl's voice rang through the Hall, calling:

YOU ARE AN AMAZING TEACHER AND WE DON'T CARE THAT YOU'RE A WEREWOLF!

The letter burnt itself out until it was just ashes. Lupin stared, nonplussed. Slowly, the entire student body (save for a few Slytherins and Snape) began to clap. Soon there was stamping and cheering, and only with a wave of Dumbledore's wand did people settle down. Lupin went back to his breakfast, a faint blush staining his cheeks. Ron turned, grinning, to Hermione. He was surprised to find her bent over her eggs, unsmiling.

"Hey." He nudged her. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm happy," she replied in a light tone. It was almost too light…

Ron gasped. "You didn't–?!" He looked from Lupin to Hermione and back again comically. "You– the Howler–?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Hermione said, winking.


	45. Chapter 45

**A/N: This is a themed story written for Slytherin house in round 10 of the Houses Competition.**

 **Prompt: Bill Weasley**

 **Word count: 3071  
**

Bill collapsed on his dilapidated, peeling couch, rubbing his face, not bothering to remove his jacket as he sunk into the soft material. He had just come back from a week-long conference in which he'd had to haggle a small fortune away from a council of vindictive goblins. Needless to say, it had been a long, trying day. He glanced at the clock. Corie would be here in just a few minutes.

Sighing and heaving himself up, Bill took out his wand, waving it in a complicated pattern to banish his parchment, quills, ink, robes, wizarding pictures, and letters to his trunk. His girlfriend was coming over for their monthly movie night, and it wouldn't do to have any signs of magic in the house.

Right on time, there was a knock on the door. Bill hastily shoved his wand in his pocket and went to answer the door, tugging at his earring nervously. In the doorframe stood a short woman with tightly curled, dark brown hair and bright hazel eyes– "Corie," Bill breathed.

"Bill," she said, though it was muffled as she was pressed to his chest in a hug.

"Happy anniversary, darling," he said, pressing a kiss to her lips.

"Bill–"

"I don't have flowers or anything but–"

"Bill!"

"Yes?"

"I, um– well, this is rather awkward– I don't even know why I came here– I guess to tell you in person–"

"Tell me what?"

"I, well– I– I can't do this anymore."

"What do you mean, this?"

"This relationship."

"What– why? What happened?"

"I don't know– I may have– accidentally–"

"What?"

Corie took a deep breath and spoke in one big rush. "I may have accidentally slept with someone else, but that's not the point–"

"You what?! How is that not the point?! You cheated on me?" Bill stared at her, hurt.

"Bill, I'm sorry– I don't know how it happened, but I want to fix this–"

"I can't believe you! Why?"

"I don't know– it just–"

"Actually, I don't want to hear it," he said, his voice quiet. "Please leave."

"Bill, I–"

"Please leave. And don't bother contacting me again."

Corie walked to the door, hanging her head shamefully. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her hand on the doorknob and one foot in the hallway. "Goodbye, Bill."

.oOo.

Bill stared out his window, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets, at the small village of Ottery St. Catchpole. He closed his eyes. Against the dark insides of his eyelids, he could recall large hazel eyes staring at his own. He buried his head in his hands and shoved down the sting of tears and the lump in his throat. She cheated on you. She left. Accept it and get over her.

Luckily, he was saved from the burden of dwelling on the subject when he heard, "Bill?" There was a knock at the door. "Bill?" Mrs. Weasley asked softly. When he didn't respond, she took the liberty to enter his room anyway. He looked up from where his head had been buried. His mother carried a tray of steaming hot chocolate and soup, as if he were sick.

"How are you doing, sweetie?"

"Thanks mom, but I really just feel like wallowing in self-pity right now," Bill said with a tight-lipped smile that was more of a grimace.

Mrs. Weasley tutted. "Now, we can't have that, dear. I know you're hurting, Bill, but really, you can't do this to yourself."

"A whole year, mom!" Bill raged suddenly. "We were fine for one whole years and then she just suddenly decided that she was through?!" He threw off his blankets and grabbed an old, battered Quaffle of Charlie's, tossing it against the wall with rhythmic thuds.

"I know, sweetheart, I know," she said, setting the tray down and methodically beginning to fold the blankets. "It doesn't make sense to me either. But sometimes, I think people can fall out of love as well as in it."

Bill glowered at the wall, hoping he'd make a dent in it. "She could have just told me, though; she didn't have to go and cheat on me."

His mother fell quiet and paused in her folding, so that the only sound in the small room was the steady thud, thud, thud of the Quaffle. "You're right, she didn't."

It was awkwardly quiet for a minute before she broke the silence again. "Well, I came in here to ask you if you'd like to accompany me this Wednesday to Hogwarts. To see Harry in the third task."

Bill sighed and threw the Quaffle one last time. "Fine," he said, but he wasn't really complaining. "It'll take my mind off… her for a while."

.oOo.

"Surprise!" his mother said, beaming. "Thought we'd come and watch you, Harry!"

"You all alright?" Bill asked as he surveyed the room and his mother enveloped a dumbfounded Harry in a bear hug. He pushed away heartbroken thoughts in favor of conversation. "Charlie wanted to come, but he couldn't get time off. He said you were incredible against the Horntail."

They were in a small side chamber with the other champions and their families. A graying, ruddy-faced man and his small wife were talking with a tall, handsome seventh year, presumably their son. Bill identified him as Cedric Diggory, the Hufflepuff champion. Another couple, an extremely short man with a hooked nose and bushy eyebrows and a woman with long, pin-straight black hair, was talking to Viktor Krum, who Bill recognized from countless magazines. And the fourth champion– woah.

All thoughts of Corie flew from his mind as he gazed at the fourth champion– a tall, pale woman with high cheekbones and piercing blue-grey eyes– like silver, Bill thought. Her straight hair cascaded down to her waist in a mesmerising, blonde waterfall. But it was blonde in a way Bill had never seen. It shimmered and waved with all the grace in the world. She was chattering in rapid French to an equally beautiful woman and a short, plump man with a pointed, black beard who was holding the hand of a smaller girl who looked extremely like the beauty; Bill guessed they were her parents and sister. Bill was suddenly aware of his pity-party-induced, very Muggle jeans and band T-shirt and his ponytail and fang earring– and the fact that he was staring.

He averted his gaze at once, but he was not fast enough to catch a flash of blue and a hint of a smile. To take his mind off the blonde, Bill cast about for something to say.

"It's great being back here," he said rather loudly. "Haven't seen this place for five years. Is that picture of the mad knight still around? Sir Cadogan?"

Bill fell into conversation easily, desperately trying to ignore the feeling of blue-grey eyes staring at him. It was hard to resist looking back at the vision, but a painful, unbidden image of Corie swam into his mind, along with the sting of betrayal, and he turned away, focusing on providing Harry with moral support.

As the fourteen-year-old showed them around the grounds, pointing out the huge, skeletal galleon of a ship that sat on the usually smooth, reflective surface of the Black Lake, Bill gazed out onto the scenery of the grounds, his mind far away. It was amazing how when he had first seen her, the blonde had banished Corie from his mind. She was like a breath of fresh air, a sunny contrast from the cloud of rejection and hurt that had surrounded him in the past few days. Now the image of Corie and the emotions associated with it was back, the hurt and betrayal mingling with his new interest in this blonde Champion.

"Bill?"

"Hm?" He looked up, startled to find both his mother and Harry looking at him expectantly.

"Harry and I were just going in for a bit of lunch. Would you like to join us or–?"

"I'm gonna stay for a minute– enjoy the view. You two go on."

His mother gave him a small smile and an understanding nod and led Harry towards the castle, making amicable small-talk.

Bill returned to his view of the lake, ready to lose himself in his thoughts again when he saw her. Just across the lake, he could see her golden hair throwing glints of sunlight in the air, onto the water. She seemed to be introducing her parents to a woman the size of Hagrid, and standing next to a carriage as big as a small house. As the adults conversed cheerfully, the Champion turned around and oh, Merlin's pants, she's seen me! Bill quickly looked down at the water, anything to make it seem like he hadn't been staring. Really, he needed to stop that.

After a time of pretending to determinedly study the kelp and seaweeds, Bill was sure he hadn't been seen. Why was he so afraid of this girl? But, when he risked a glance up, his heart sped up– she'd given her parents the slip and she's walking over here, what do I do?!

"Hello?" she called. Bill held his breath, adamantly avoiding eye contact. "May I sit?" He jumped and looked up– she had moved closer, too close, and he craned his neck up to look at her. Her eyes were hesitant but hard, as if nervous but being stubbornly unwilling to show it. Bill moved his gaze from her eyes and nodded, his cheeks heating up. She sat next to him– Bill could feel her presence without looking– her legs straight out in front of her, revealing pale, porcelain skin. They sat in silence, Bill studying her legs, before she asked, "I saw you talking to ze Potter boy. You know 'eem?"

Bill blinked. "I– yeah, uh, he's a friend of my brother's." She nodded and resumed staring at the lake. Just to have something to say, and to break the silence, because he really did want to get to know her, Bill asked, "You're one of the Champions, right?"

"Yes," she replied. "Beauxbatons."

"And that's in, uh–"

"France. My accent does not geev it away?" she asked playfully. Bill blushed. She stuck out her hand. "Fleur Delacour."

Bill looked at the proffered hand in surprise. "Bill Weasley," he replied, shaking it. They fell back into silence, but it was friendlier now.

"Do you think you'll win?" Fleur looked round in surprise. "The tournament. Do you think you'll win?"

"I only 'ope I survive this maze they 'ave made," she replied. Bill swallowed nervously. Suddenly, the idea of her dying made his chest ache.

"Don't talk like that. You won't die."

"You are so sure?" He nodded. "You are sweet." Bill felt his cheeks heat up again.

"So, what do you plan to do after you graduate?"

"I would like to work in ze Gringotts," she replied.

"Really? You don't want to travel, or follow a creative passion or something? You just want to go into banking?"

"Where do you work?"

Bill opened and closed his mouth. He smiled, defeated. "At a bank."

She laughed. "See, eet ees not so – how do you say? – unusual. I would like to work with ze goblins and be a, uh, curse-breaker. I zink eet will 'elp me eemproove my Eenglish."

"I-it's very good already." It was Fleur's turn to blush. "But, I work with goblins a lot also, and I think you'd be good at it," he said, pretending to size her up.

"You zink so?" He nodded sincerely.

"Bill?" The redhead turned around to see his mother standing a few feet away. "Why don't you come in for lunch? The steak-and-kidney pie is amazing." Her expression left no room for objection.

Fleur gave him a small smile and he took that as his cue to leave. With a small, awkward wave he was led away.

"Mom, what was that?"

"Bill, I just don't think you should be flirting this early after you and Corie–"

"I was not flirting!" he protested, though he felt the thread of guilt usually associated with dishonesty make its way into his stomach. "I was just making conversation, being friendly!"

She raised one eyebrow. "Well, I couldn't help but think that both of you had more than friendship in mind." She stalked off into the Great Hall, and Bill was left to find that he didn't think she was wrong.

.oOo.

"Hey, Rodkoff, is this goblin-made?"

The old, ornery jeweler looked up with disdain and slowly, slowly took out his enchanted monocle before looking at the necklace. He lifted his head, a sneer obscuring his already-large nose. "No, you imbecile. This is obviously smudged here. Does goblin-made jewelry get dirty? No! How you ever got a job here..." he trailed off.

Bill huffed and turned back to his magnifying glass. It was the typical attitude he got from his goblin counterparts, but that didn't make him any less annoyed. Because he was the only human who passed his initiation test and began working at the British Gringotts establishment, he was resented greatly by his coworkers and they took any chance to belittle him and make him seem inadequate in the hope he'd be fired.

Bill had just thrown the necklace in the bin to take it to the correct vault when he heard the raspy, nasally voice of the head of their division, Lagnast calling him. "Bill Weasley? You need to come out here– there's a situation."

What dung has Rodkoff told them I did this time? he thought as he was led out of the room. But all speculations left his head when he saw who was waiting for him with Lagnast– it was Fleur.

"This is our newest employee," Lagnast explained as Bill gaped. "You're to show her the ropes, explain what she is to do and how it works around here. Make sure she doesn't mess up, or it'll be on you."

Bill could only nod as the head stalked off. Finally, he found his voice. "Fleur, what are you doing here?"

"I passed my test! I now get to work 'ere wiz you and be a banker! And you get to teach me!"

"Yeah, I get to teach you," Bill said, dazed. "Listen, Fleur, you have to understand something– they don't really like humans here."

She huffed dismissively. "I know zis. Ze admineestrator was very rude to me– 'e seemed to zink I would not pass. Do not worry, Bill, I can handle zis." And she strode into the jewelry room.

As the weeks passed, Bill realized that working with Fleur Delacour was very enjoyable but also very dangerous. She made jokes and laughed loudly, but that also got her, and subsequently him, into trouble. She was sweet and gentle with him and made him feel nervous and happy and put butterflies in his stomach, but she was also strong, fierce and powerful and stood up to goblins who tried to put her down and Bill knew better than to get in her way. But Bill was falling, face-first, head-over-heels, in love with her. Over time, he learned many things about her– she treasured Gabrielle, her sister, the most in the world; she didn't like French food, despite what people thought; she used a very slight amount of French hair potion to keep her hair super-shiny – that just made him love her more. His love for her was dangerous, because a war, the invisible storm of darkness that was Lord Voldemort, was coming and love could be used as a weapon against him.

Which was why, when he looked back on it, Bill supposed it was a very stupid thing that he did.

They were walking out of Gringotts, having just finished another day of work being harrassed by goblins, yet they were the happiest they could have been. And as Bill watched Fleur laugh at his imitation of Rodkoff, he decided that this, this right here, this was what he wanted in his life– to laugh with Fleur. And his brain became mush, ignoring the fear of a refusal, and he asked her.

"Do you want to go out with me?"

She became serious at once. "How so?"

"I just– I meant–" This was a stupid idea– she doesn't like you!

"You mean on a date?"

"I–" Bill took a breath and assembled a coherent sentence. "Look, Fleur, I really like you, and it would mean a lot to me if you would do me the honor of letting me take you to dinner."

Fleur looked at him with a small smile on her face. Finally, it turned into a full-blown grin. "Of course I will go out wiz you!" she said, and laughed her merry, infectious laugh. "You don't need to be so serious!"

Bill smiled sheepishly and blushed. "Well, I was afraid you would say no."

Fleur looked concerned. "Are you okay, Bill? Because I theenk something ees wrong with your eye– yes, you are blind!" she said, her worried façade falling in place of more laughter. "I have liked you for a long time!"

Bill smirked. "Really? Do tell."

It was Fleur's turn to blush. "Since we first met," she told him with a small, matter-of-fact smile.

"Same here."

"Eet ees stupid eet took us zis long," Fleur pouted. "So, when ees ze date?"

"I'm thinking… tomorrow after work. I know a great Indian restaurant."

"I like Indian food." Fleur smiled again, but this time she looked nervous. "Zank you, Bill."

"We haven't even been on the date yet," Bill teased.

"I have a good feeling," Fleur said. She seemed to hesitate and then come to a decision. Finally, she moved closer to him. "Zis might be doing it a beet backwards, but…" And before he could register what was happening, they were both leaning in and–

Their lips met.

Fireworks went off in Bill's stomach as his eyes fluttered shut. His brain seemed to shut down and the only people in the world were him and Fleur Delacour.

And suddenly, the warm pressure of her lips on his left and Bill opened his eyes. He schooled his face into as alert of an expression as he could muster to find Fleur looking up at him shyly, her cheeks stained with a light blush.

"I will see you tomorrow," she said. "Goodbye, Bill."

He watched her go, having bid goodbye to any fear of rejection.


End file.
